If It Helps
by sweettooth7
Summary: It had always been Daryl and Merle against the world, for as long as either of them could remember, and there was no way in hell Merle was letting that stop now. It was all just a big misunderstanding. (Caryl AU with a heavy dose of Merle.)
1. Chapter 1

**Well, hello there! Thanks for stopping in : ) I am so very excited to finally share this with you all, as it's been something I've been cooking up for quite a while!**

**This is an AU fic that takes place when they are all much younger. Carol is in her late 20s, Daryl early 30s, and Merle late 30s. I don't think any other background info is required, but if you have any questions, feel free to ask : )**

**The biggest and baddest thanks goes out to untapdtreasure and Stephtron312 for beta'ing this story for me. There are approximately zero words to express how much I appreciate the time you've invested into helping me out. You both treated these characters with such a respect that had me trusting your judgement implicitly, and really and truly have made this story better. As a couple of the writers that I admire the most in the fanfic world, your encouragement has just been SO amazing. From Larissa's intense hatred of Merle, to Steph's attachment to certain pieces of furniture, this has just been the most fun writing experience I've ever had! THANK YOU! oxox**

**DISCLAIMER! I own nothing that has anything to with The Walking Dead, except for a Caryl mug and a Carol Funko Pop doll, which lives next to my bed. (*ahem*)**

**I hope you enjoy : )**

* * *

He was a free man. Again.

A free man with absolutely nowhere to go. No family. No prospects. His own brother had stopped visiting him six months ago after the fight they'd gotten into right in the visiting area of the prison he'd called home for the previous two years. They'd gotten to talking about Merle's plans for when he got out, but it had gone south pretty fast.

Daryl had gotten all high and mighty, telling Merle to get his fucking life together and stop dicking around all the damn time. Kept saying how bad Merle had fucked up over and over again. How he couldn't keep on this way. How he had to grow the fuck up and be a man. Merle asked what his fucking problem was, and Daryl said _he_ was the one with the fucking problem.

Only, it wasn't a conversation. It was a screaming match. One that very quickly escalated into a fist fight.

They'd come to blows before the security guards had pulled them apart. It had all just intensified with the fiery tempers of the Dixon brothers, leaving Merle with a bloody nose and what Merle hoped would be a black eye for Daryl.

Merle knew that Daryl said he wanted nothing to do with him anymore but he didn't believe him for a second, not in the least. It was just the heat of the moment. The intensity of it all had made Daryl say things he didn't mean. Made him say that he didn't want Merle to come home when he got out. Made him say he wouldn't be there to greet him on his first day back out in the world.

But Daryl _wasn't_ there to greet him, or bring him home. Merle rationalized that he never got the message he left. Or perhaps he'd forgotten.

Only, Daryl had never forgotten any of the times before.

It had always been Daryl and Merle against the world, for as long as either of them could remember, and there was no way in hell Merle was letting that stop now.

He made his way over to the only place he knew of as home with what little change he had in his pocket. It was whatever was leftover from the cab fare he'd spent to get as close as he could to the old neighbourhood.

He walked the rest of the way through familiar streets, past the familiar trailer homes that he'd known for so long. He knew Daryl would be there, ready to take him back. Ready to be together again and carry on as they did.

It was all just a big misunderstanding.

Daryl would apologize and Merle would tell him never to speak to him like that again, lest he be itching for a backhand across that mouth of his. And then they'd fall back into their steady routine of unsteadiness. The drugs, the women, the liquor. Merle only fleetingly acknowledged that the fondness he had for those memories – the longing he felt to dive right back into it all – had not a thing to do with Daryl, and everything to do with himself and himself alone.

No, Daryl wasn't his partner in crime, he was his brother's keeper. Always there to pick him up on those mornings after, every single time.

He'd clean him up after a particularly messed up batch of whatever narcotic he could get his hands on. Send the women on their way with some sorry excuse or another. Pick up the empty bottles and wipe up the spills of the liquor that lubricated the entire thing into something of a dream—something fuzzy and hazy that may as well not have even existed. It took Merle away, even for a little while. And Daryl was always there picking up the pieces.

Loyal, unwavering, faithful Daryl.

It was a cool day with Summer being on its way out. Merle walked with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, anxiously approaching the tiny trailer he knew Daryl still called home.

But as he came up to the place he knew to be his brother's, it looked entirely different.

The tiny lawn was mowed and free of the weeds that had never before been taken care of. There were flower beds along the front of the house. The siding was whiter. The windows looked cleaner. There were shutters. And Daryl's truck wasn't there.

Merle's footsteps slowed as he came to stand in front of the driveway, wondering if he was in the right place. He glanced around, noting the familiar homes around him, the familiar curve in the road up ahead. The familiar tree a few feet to his right. This was definitely the place.

He briefly entertained the idea that Daryl had moved, but dismissed the thought as quickly as it had appeared. Daryl would tell him something significant like that. He would never just up and move without a thought of Merle. He'd never leave his big brother behind in the wake of the dust he'd kicked up on his way out.

He just wouldn't do that.

Merle stepped onto the porch – new steps and with a fresh coat of paint – and approached the door hesitantly. He glanced towards the refinished porch swing before he knocked firmly, then took a step back and waited. And then he waited some more.

And when he knocked again, he heard a rustling from around the side of the little house and before he could even think to look in that direction, a form appeared, though it wasn't the one he was expecting.

It was a woman, a very slight woman. She had long, auburn curls and crystal blue eyes, and the heavy garbage bag she was dragging to the front of the house was a stark contrast to the flowery dress and demure sweater she wore over top of it. Her brown shoes looked like ballet slippers.

"Oh, hello there," she said, slightly startled at the sight of his hulking form at her front door. She dropped the bag from her grip and turned towards the stranger.

And simply by the tone of her voice, he could tell she was a quiet one. Shy. Nervous. She was small in demeanor as well as appearance. Like a little mouse.

But she was also beautiful, and a quick glance told him that she wasn't wearing a ring on her finger. Maybe this would be an opportunity. Maybe the world was welcoming him back into its rotation with open arms after all.

"Something I can help you with?" she asked, her mouth quirking upward in a tiny smile of politeness. She was still a bit nervous, that much was obvious.

He felt himself smiling back, genuinely, making his way back down the refinished porch steps to stand in front of her. Looking at her kind face and hearing her kind question with her subtle southern drawl, and feeling no possible way to be rude to this woman. When he spoke again, he surprised himself with the gentle tone he took.

"I think I may have found myself at the wrong house. Sorry to bother you, miss," he nodded at her, and she spoke before he could make a move.

"Who were you looking for? Maybe I can steer you in the right direction?"

Of course he would tell her, he found it almost impossible not to, even though he was almost certain she would not be able to steer him anywhere.

She held a hand up to shield her eyes from the sun as a light breeze blew at the skirt of her flowing dress. The mere image of her didn't fit in this trailer park, not one bit. Neither did the flower beds in front of her home.

"Man by the name of Daryl Dixon," he told her. "Lived here a long time."

"Oh," she responded, looking down for a moment before looking back towards the strange man at her door step. "Well, Daryl should be home any minute now, Mister…" Her voice trailed off as she allowed him to fill in the blank.

"Dixon," he stated, his tone confused. "Merle Dixon. I'm Daryl's-"

"Older brother," she breathed, looking up at him with something akin to awe. Awe and trepidation.

His eyes narrowed and the air around them filled with tension. This woman knew Daryl. Lived in his house.

_Daryl should be home any minute now._

He felt like gagging, for some reason.

"And who might you be, darlin'?" he asked, the softness of his voice bleeding away.

"I'm Carol," she replied, extending her hand to him somewhat stiffly. "Carol Sinclair."

He shook it, eyeing her sceptically and suddenly feeling much less friendly than he had just a moment ago.

She paused and tucked a stray curl behind her ear, awkwardly fidgeting under his scrutinizing gaze. "You're more than welcome to come inside and wait for him."

The instant the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. If Daryl came home and found her alone in their house with his brother, he'd lose his mind. It didn't take a genius to come to that conclusion after the stories he'd told her. And if there was one thing she knew about the man she loved, it was that he didn't take kindly to the slightest threat towards her.

"Thank you, miss. That'd be mighty kind of you." It didn't escape her notice that his voice was dripping with contempt.

"Carol," she corrected gently. "You can just call me Carol. Please."

"Carol, then." And his gaze was unwavering, and it had her practically trembling.

He was angry. She wasn't blind, anyone could see that something had struck a nerve.

She hoped Daryl wouldn't be late tonight.

Carol was surprised when he stopped her from picking up the garbage bag again, and instead offered to carry it to the end of the driveway himself. She thanked him though, and he only nodded his head tersely in reply.

Merle followed her inside, making no effort to hide the fact that he was looking around, assessing the place; judging. It had certainly changed, that was for sure. And it was clear that it was because of this woman, this Carol. She'd come into his baby brother's life at some point and made herself right at home.

Photos on the walls, carpet vacuumed and stains removed, surfaces dust-free. Fucking flowers in a vase on the coffee table. _A coffee table._

Though Daryl apparently hadn't thought it necessary to mention her. Not once, not any of this. Not even in passing. Not a peep about a woman who had moved into his house and changed fucking _everything_. A woman who lived there and hung fucking pictures on the wall and put fucking flowers in a fucking vase.

Merle raged silently as it all came crashing down on him, all the reasons why Daryl had torn into him the way he had the last time he'd visited.

Daryl had made a life for himself. Moved on. Moved on so far from where he'd started that he wanted nothing to do with his big brother anymore.

And Daryl thought he was better than the man he used to be. Better than where he came from. Better than Merle.

Carol's voice drifted over to him from the kitchen area, breaking him out of the spell he'd put himself under. "Would you like a beer?"

He turned in her direction to answer in the affirmative but she'd already been walking towards him, holding an open bottle for him. He took it, and nodded his head in thanks before rolling his eyes back to the photos on the wall, landing on one in particular.

A ten-year-old Merle and a four-year-old Daryl looked back at him, sitting in a rickety old boat. Their grandpa's fishing boat. The one person in their lives either of them could count on before he up and died on them when Merle was eleven. The two little boys were smiling. The bigger boy held a fish in one hand and had his arm slung around the smaller boy. It was sunny. You could tell by the way the water glistened in the background, and the squint they both had in their eyes.

Merle remembered that weekend well, almost as though it had happened yesterday. It was the shortest three days of his life, and both boys were filled with dread at the thought of going back home. Home to their angry daddy and drunken, apathetic mama. Merle had held Daryl's hand in the backseat of the car the whole way home.

He hadn't even known Daryl had that picture.

And now his woman had it hanging in a fucking frame on the wall.

He felt like he'd been locked up for a lifetime, coming back into a world that was entirely different from the one he'd left.

"Um, Merle?"

He turned his attention back to the little mouse in the flowery dress when he heard her small voice.

She was fiddling with the edge of her sky blue cardigan as she spoke. "Would you like to stay for dinner? Nothing fancy or anything, I was just gonna grill up some hamburgers."

She sounded uncertain – nervous, even – to be asking him this. She'd known about him, that much was clear.

"I'd like that," he responded dully, his eyes travelling down her well-kept form before trailing back to the photo on the wall.

He would never have gone for a woman like her, before. He would never ever have given someone of the likes of her the time of day, simply because of the judgement he knew they'd pass in return. He knew what her type was like, and her type certainly would never consider jumping into bed with a drifter like him. And Merle Dixon certainly had never wasted his time on anyone who thought they were better than him – anyone he may have thought was better than him.

And while she busied herself in the kitchen, he allowed himself to look at the others pictures on the wall. Some landscapes, some scenery, one of the two of them. Daryl and this Carol. And, _fuck_, they looked happy. He wondered who had taken these pictures. What the photograph of the lake beyond the end of an old dock meant to them. Where was it taken?

His jaw clenched again in anger and frustration as he processed it all. Here was Daryl's new home, though it was his old home, where Merle used to live. But it was clean. Organized. Furnished. It had photos hanging on the wall, a coat rack by the door, and a fucking _coffee table_ with a vase full of fresh flowers on it.

It had a woman who lived here now. And that woman was like no one he'd ever seen his brother with before. No one he'd ever been with himself. She was soft. Pretty. Modest. A stark contrast to his own ripped up and wrinkled clothes, and the filthy mechanic he remembered his brother to be. She was clean, well put-together. She smelled like sweetness, and he didn't know if it was perfume, or if that's just what she smelled like.

She'd offered him a drink and asked him to stay for dinner. Didn't turn him away, though she clearly knew exactly who he was.

He couldn't understand any of it. How she'd found her way to his brother, into his home, inviting people over for dinner, and offering them drinks.

He followed her out the back door, then, and helped her carry the plate of meat as she fired up the grill to make dinner for his brother. For a moment he wondered what she knew about Daryl, how long she'd known him. Maybe she didn't know who he really was. Maybe this was some sort of show, some sort of charade he'd put together for her.

But then he realized where he was. He was in the old trailer home, in the same neighbourhood he'd lived in for years. No, she knew exactly who Daryl was, and knew exactly where he'd come from. She knew about his family, that much was evident from the photo hanging on the wall, and the uneasy disposition she held when he told her his name.

And Daryl was never the type to trick a woman. Never the type to be dishonest, if he could help it. He had too much of a conscience, that one. Ever since he was a boy.

_Daryl should be home any minute now._

And he'd be coming home to a hot dinner on the table, and a warm welcome from his little mouse.

And all Merle could see was green, though he had no idea what to call the feeling that was churning inside of him.


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter is just an itty bitty one, to get us moving along with this ragtag trio. I hope you enjoy! : )**

* * *

"So, _Carol_," Merle began, drawing out his words in a way that made her uncomfortable. She could feel his eyes on her, and combined with his humourless tone, it was unnerving. "How did you meet my baby brother?"

He sat at a folding chair, watching her barbecue the meat in her sweet little outfit.

She smiled at the question, lost in the memory. No, that smile was definitely not for him. It was all for Daryl.

"Well, actually, um, my car just kept breaking down. Once every few weeks, at least." She shook her head, still smiling, as her eyes lingered on the grill. "So I'd have to go pick it up at the shop all the time. And, um, Daryl was always there with my keys. Teasing me about it. And one day, I said to him, '_Maybe I'm just using it as an excuse to come down here and see you_,' and he said, '_Well, maybe I don't mind so much then_.'" She laughed quietly to herself, flipping the burgers. "Then the next time I was there, he said, _'I'm thinkin' maybe I wanna take you out for dinner, Miss Carol,_' and so I told him, '_Well, maybe I wouldn't mind that so much'_."

She cleared her throat and tried unsuccessfully to wipe the smile off her face, surprising herself with how much she'd rambled. Surely Merle didn't care about each and every detail of their meeting.

And Merle could have tossed his cookies right then and there. He rolled his eyes at the sappy story, thinking that his brother had turned into some pussy by sweet-talking women to get in their pants.

Only this one was clearly for more than just fucking, and he couldn't wrap his head around it no matter how hard he tried. She was beautiful. It was obvious. She was beautiful in a way that made her too good for the likes of the Dixons. She dressed like a lady, and she barely wore any shit on her face. She was soft-spoken. Delicate.

He watched her as she cooked, trying to imagine the two of them fucking. Wondering what she was like. If she was loud, or if she was quiet like she was now. If she liked it rough, or if she wanted it soft. How she liked to be touched. What kind of face she'd make when it all came crashing down.

And he couldn't for the life of him figure out what about her was so goddamn special that Daryl would move her ass into his house and fucking settle down with her. Or better yet, what the fuck was so special about Daryl that he'd bag a woman like this Carol Sinclair.

Carol glanced up at Merle then, her smile lingering as she finished her story. But when she saw the way he looked back at her with such disdain, she sobered immediately and cleared her throat once more before turning back to the meat.

"And when did all this happen?" he asked, his tone saturated with sarcasm.

"Um," she swallowed heavily and looked him right in the eye, her manner resigned. "About…a year and a half ago? Maybe?"

She didn't know Merle at all, but she knew right then that this information angered him, and deeply. There was something about the whole situation that had her nervous to answer any more of his questions, but there was nothing she could do. There was no one there to stop him from asking, and _she_ certainly couldn't do it. No, she was far too polite, and he was much bigger than she was.

His stare was unwavering on her face. "An' how long you lived here, sugar?"

She held his gaze, almost as though she was waiting for him to make some sort of move. Though she had no idea what kind of move he'd be making. "I moved in eight months ago."

He nodded slowly, his brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed as he glowered at her.

She snapped her attention back to the food and took the hamburgers off the grill swiftly as she realized she was dangerously close to overcooking them.

"He never told you about me," she muttered, concentrating on placing the meat on the plate.

He smirked at her discomfort and shook his head slowly, though she wasn't looking at him. "No, darlin', he didn't."

Carol took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, attempting not to take offense. She knew Daryl must have had his reasons for keeping her a secret from his brother, she did. The pang of hurt crept its way through and tugged at her sharply, regardless.

Before she needed to offer any sort of reply to Merle, she heard the front door shut, and she looked through the screen door sharply, Merle's eyes still on her, not affected by the newcomer at all.

"Carol?" She heard Daryl's voice call to her and spared a fleeting glance at Merle before rushing inside to greet him.

"There you are," he said sweetly as he toed off his shoes, only seeing her enter through the screen door out of the corner of his eye. "Smells fuckin' _amazing_, I'm starv—"he saw the look on her face, and he knew something wasn't right. "What's goin' on? What's wrong?"

He searched her face for any sign of what could have her so flustered as she quickly closed the distance between them, and held onto her by her biceps, her small hands squeezing his forearms in return.

"Daryl," she whispered. "We have company."

He automatically glanced around the small space and looked back at her with confusion when he saw no one.

"Out back," she explained, and he looked towards the screen door that led to their tiny backyard, trying to peer outside. "It's _Merle_," she told him, lowering her voice even more.

And Daryl's blue eyes snapped back to hers at the sound of his brother's name coming from her lips. He didn't want it there.

He didn't want Merle in his house, didn't want him anywhere near Carol.

Daryl let his hands slide down her arms as he dropped them to his sides, but took hold of her hand to pull her along as he took a step towards the screen door leading to the backyard.

Before he could make it any further, Merle sauntered inside, loosely holding the neck of his beer bottle as he eyed his little brother.

"Daryl!" he barked, making a clear effort to force some lightness into his tone, though his face was anything but. "Was just catching up with your little lady here," he motioned to Carol with the hand that held the bottle, running his tongue over his teeth as he eyed her.

Daryl's hand squeezed hers tighter.

"Didn't know you was gettin' out so soon," Daryl commented, speaking low and trying desperately to keep his anger at bay.

"Nah. You wouldn't, would ya? Stopped callin'. Stopped comin' by. I left you a message. A couple, actually. You too good for me now, baby brother?"

Daryl remembered those messages. He'd deleted them the second he'd heard Merle's voice on the other end.

Carol's heart began to race, not knowing how on earth this conversation would turn out. Not having a clue what type of man Merle was, except through what she'd been told. And what she'd been told had her thinking this would get very violent, very quickly.

She instinctively moved herself slightly behind Daryl and tightened her grip on his hand.

"'Course not, Merle. Just had a lot goin' on, is all."

Daryl did what he could to diffuse this for Carol's sake.

"We're 'bout ta eat supper now, though, so-" Daryl began.

And then Carol's heart practically burst. Daryl was going to kill her.

"Um," she interjected, stepping slightly forward once more. "I, um, invited Merle to eat with us," she gestured towards Merle with a forced smile and feigned composure, and couldn't tear her eyes away from Daryl's as he glared at her.

His eyes said everything he couldn't, not in front of Merle. And with her own, she tried telling him she was sorry.

"That's right, Darylina. Got yourself a guest for supper. And would ya look at that," he drawled, taking one last pull from his bottle. "My beer's empty."


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you so much to everyone who's read and reviewed so far. : ) and just a little note before I forget: I kind of visualized a scrappy and light-haired Season 1 Daryl for this story, in case you were wondering ; )**

**Enjoy!**

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Merle made small talk as Carol set the table and brought the food over, giving Daryl information he didn't ask for about his time in jail.

_Fucker had it comin', Daryl. You shoulda seen the look on his face right before I pounded him. Knocked his tooth right out!_

His cackling was unnerving.

She'd set two open bottles beer on the counter for them and did her best to avoid making eye contact with the older, rougher man. She could feel Daryl's gaze on her though from time to time, and she knew he wasn't the least bit happy.

She poured herself a glass of the homemade sweet tea that Daryl loved so much and went to join the men at the dining table. Merle had already begun eating with total disregard,though Daryl had waited for her, and they continued with their meal in a silence that wasn't the least bit comfortable.

Carol wasn't sure if she should say something to break through the tense sounds of the cutlery clanging on the plates, or if it might be best that she keep her mouth shut. She opted for the latter, figuring she'd done enough damage, and glanced sheepishly at Daryl.

He was glaring at his brother as he speared a bite of potato salad onto his fork, but when his eyes flitted to hers they softened slightly, and she saw the corner of his mouth turn up just barely.

She let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding as she looked back at her plate, visibly relieved at his reassurance.

Carol knew that Merle's mere existence was a point of contention for him. She knew it well, and she hadn't meant to drop this bomb on him the way she had. But Merle intimidated her, and she had asked him to stay out of pure uneasiness.

"'S real good, Carol," Daryl said gently, the compliment on the food serving as a peace offering. He knew she could feel the way he had overreacted and directed his frustration openly towards her earlier, and for that he was sorry.

She smiled softly at him in response.

And Merle eyed the two of them warily, completely dumbfounded at the exchange. He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually seen two people be kind to one another like that. The nicest he'd ever been to a woman he was fucking was simply the bare minimum that would allow him to get into her pants.

He figured it was only a matter of time, though, before Daryl snapped. He was clearly pissed off at her. He had been watching them closely, just waiting for his little brother to lose it on this woman. It was the only way either of them knew how to be with a woman. It was all they'd ever been taught.

Women weren't companions. They were just...women. A means to an end, if you will.

Carol relaxed once Daryl did and decided to make light conversation, trying to ease the tension they were all practically choking on and attempted at changing the subject. She cleared her throat.

"I saw Mrs. McLeod today," she began. Daryl grunted quietly through his mouthful. "Told me she had a light bulb needs changing in her living room. Wanted to know if you could come over this weekend to help her out." Carol smiled as she took another bite, and Daryl smiled in return.

"Needs my help, huh?"

Carol nodded, still smiling in amusement. "She said it might be best if you wore your sleeveless flannel. You know, so the fabric doesn't get in your way."

And Daryl smiled wider, nodding in understanding. "Crazy woman," he muttered.

Carol shrugged, her eyes softening with fondness. "Can't say I blame her."

"Mrs. McLeod?" Merle interjected abrasively. Before he'd spoken, they had practically forgotten he was even there. "She still live next door?"

Carol nodded and took a sip of her tea, casting a glance in Merle's direction. "She's quite fond of your brother."

And just like that, Merle's deafening glare erased all semblance of easy conversation. It was like he wanted to make her uncomfortable. She didn't know how to be around him, and her smile instantly fell.

"He's a regular ladies' man," he drawled, not an ounce of humour in his voice.

Daryl's eyes darted between them and he dropped his fork loudly onto his plate, drawing Merle's attention away from Carol. The brothers held eye contact as Daryl took a long pull from his beer, and when he put it back down, he leaned forward with a scrutinizing glower.

"So what's your _plan_?" Daryl asked him, his question laced heavily with disdain.

"For tonight?" Merle shrugged, stone-faced as he stared Daryl down. "Figure somethin' out, I s'pose."

Carol's eyes danced between the two, waiting for Daryl to offer him a place to stay. But no such thing happened, to her startling disappointment. Though she knew Daryl had his reasons, she still thought he should try being the bigger person. Try helping him out. Try remembering that they were brothers, and that Merle would never truly go away.

"Reckon you will," was all Daryl said.

And then they only looked at one another for a long moment that Carol felt stretched on for an eternity.

"You can stay here," she offered, her voice small. She berated herself immediately but then spoke again before she could think. "Until you get on your feet."

And she was pretty sure she visibly cringed, knowing it was the absolute _wrong_ thing to say.

Her eyes flickered to Daryl's and she saw him glaring back at her with complete disbelief. She winced apologetically before turning her attention back to Merle, raising her eyebrows at him in mock expectancy as she popped her last bite of potato salad into her mouth.

She hoped beyond hope that he'd turn down the offer. Do what he said he would and _figure something out_, but she had no such luck. The corner of his mouth turned up into a sneer, knowing full well that Daryl didn't want him anywhere near his abode, which made the whole situation even more appealing to him.

"Mighty kind of you, buttercup," he drawled, before cutting his eyes towards his brother. "That would be downright lovely. Ain't that right, Daryl?"

"Fuckin' _peachy_," he mumbled, shaking his head with a pointed look at his girlfriend, and took a swig of beer.

Carol took this as her cue to get up and start clearing the dishes.

She fumbled with their plates, stacking them unsteadily on her own to take them to the sink. She dropped a fork on the ground on her way there, and it made a loud clang on the linoleum.

Once she'd picked it up and stood once more, she glanced embarrassedly towards the table and a shiver ran through her when she noticed Merle smirking her way. No matter how much she passed in his company, she couldn't seem to shake the way he made her skin crawl.

The brothers stayed seated at the dining table as she worked away at the sink, the awkwardness of the entire conversation not lost on her.

"You ain't never came by," Merle accused, his voice low. Carol kept her head bowed, but her eyes cut to Merle as she sensed the disappointment in his tone.

"Figured we was done. Ain't nothin' left to say after that last time."

"I fuckin' called you. Thought you'd meet me today. Bring me home."

He didn't want to tell Merle that the second he'd heard his older brother's voice on the answering machine, he'd deleted the messages without listening to any more of them. It was why he had no idea that Merle was getting out. No idea that he'd been planning on coming 'home' so soon.

The sound of the fork she was washing hitting a plate in the sink as it slipped from her fingers had made Carol jump, and Merle and Daryl look in her direction.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

Daryl smirked at her uncomfortably before turning back to his brother, all at once telling her it was fine and begging her not to hate him.

Because he knew that he hadn't handled things right. He'd erased Merle's messages before Carol had ever known they were there, and he never told her his brother had called. He had done everything he could to keep them apart, keep those two parts of his life completely separate from one another.

The timing of her accidental disruption told him that she'd known he had kept it from her, and was bothered by it.

Daryl sucked his teeth a moment. "This ain't your home no more. I'm with Carol now, Merle," he said calmly, shaking his head. "It ain't like it was before."

Carol's heart picked up, suddenly nervous to have her name lingering in the air of this conversation.

"Oh, I see it, baby brother. I see it _real_ clear," Merle sneered. "And what a nice surprise it was, coming home and all but finding my shit piled on the front lawn. Couldn't even 'a told me you were kickin' me out."

It made Carol even more nervous that their voices stayed even. Not a hint of the temper she knew Daryl to have, or the one Merle was rumoured to have.

"You _left_. How many times is it, Merle? How many times you landed your ass in fuckin' _jail_, huh? And you expect me to just sit around here and wait for you to come back and fuck with me again?"

And that's when another loud clatter came from the kitchen sink, as Carol let a glass slip out of her hand this time, once again receiving the startled attention of the short-tempered men at the table.

Daryl stood up then, and turned his back on Merle as he began making his way towards her.

"The fuck's wrong with you tonight?" he asked in a low, even murmur.

This was the moment Merle had been waiting for. The confirmation that there was no possible way to be happy with a woman. No possible way that Daryl would actually be able to escape the life they were _both_ destined to live. Merle smirked to himself as he heard Daryl's gravelly voice reprimand her quietly, and watched his retreating form make his way towards Carol in the kitchen.

So Merle sat back in his seat, waiting for the show. Ready to tell his little brother _'I told you so'_. Ready to remind him that he wasn't the type to settle down with a woman, that they weren't bred that way. Ready to rub it in his face that it was just supposed to be the two of them – always had been, and always would be.

But then the unexpected happened. The absolute last thing Merle had ever thought he would see.

The blow never came.

Carol watched Daryl stalking towards her and placed the now-cleaned cup overturned on the drying rack. But when her eyes travelled to his face, she smiled.

_What the fuck?_

Her smile wasn't even a full-on grin. It was one of those ones where her eyes got all fucking dreamy and she couldn't even fucking help herself. She was just fucking _smiling_.

That's when Daryl reached Carol by the sink and turned himself towards her so that Merle could now see that he was smiling too. Went and stood so close to her that his front was touching her arm as her hands kept working in the sink.

Because he wasn't mad at her at all, not one bit. And Merle ground his teeth together as he realized Daryl had only been teasing her.

"Butterfingers, I guess," she muttered, looking up at him with those dreamy eyes.

"Mmm," Daryl hummed and nodded with an amused smirk, dipping his head to kiss her gently on the mouth. And when he pulled away, he kept his face _right there_ as their lips lingered on one another.

Merle clenched his jaw and looked away, focussing now on the beer bottle in his hands, sitting in front of him on the table.

It was like he felt as though he was _intruding_ on them or something during some private fucking moment.

And Merle didn't really know why he felt so angry all over again.

"'Nother beer, _brother_?" Daryl asked him, his smile wiped away at that last word as he side-eyed the man in question.

Merle looked up then, back towards the couple, and noticed Daryl's hand slip away from her hip as he moved towards the fridge. He nodded curtly in response, unable to fully wipe the scowl off his face.

Only to Daryl, it looked more like a pout than a the younger man couldn't help but smile just a bit at the frown on his big brother's face.

_Fuckin' Merle._

Daryl fetched two more bottles from the fridge and made his way to the sofa, with Merle inevitably following.

"So, how you been, Daryl?" Merle asked, his tone changing to one of sincere interest. And Carol couldn't tell if he was full of it or not as she wiped down the kitchen countertops.

"Been great, Merle," he answered, glancing towards Carol. Merle's eyes followed, and he worked to keep the sneer off his face.

"Still workin' at Jim's?"

"Still workin' at Jim's."

Daryl glared at his brother, waiting for the small talk to be done and over with. Merle made no move to say anything else, and Daryl's eyes narrowed.

"The fuck you want, Merle?" Daryl asked him, bringing his voice down an octave. He was done with the bullshit.

Merle took a swig, swallowing thickly as he levelled his eyes at Daryl.

"Just wanted to come home. Be with my little brother again."

"This ain't your home."

"Now, I suppose that would depend on who you asked," Merle commented, tipping his bottle in Daryl's direction.

"You're askin' _me_. _I_ own this fuckin' house."

"You kickin' me out, boy?"

But Daryl just shook his head once more, slow and deliberate, and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "This ain't your home, Merle. You ain't lived here in _years_. And when you did? _I_ worked. _I_ paid the fuckin' bills. _I_ cleaned up after your sorry, worthless ass."

Carol's hands slowed as she now dried the dishes, nervous that Daryl's tone would make Merle even more angry. Her mind kept going back to that black eye Daryl had come home with that day, and she was terrified at the prospect of violence between them. She couldn't handle the violence.

"So, what are you sayin' then? You gonna throw me onto the street? Just toss me out? _I ain't got nowhere to go, Daryl_," he yelled, finally letting his agitation take over, his beer still in hand as he held his arms out for emphasis.

So Daryl took a breath and brought his voice down again. He wouldn't fight with Merle. Not here. "Carol said you could stay here til you got back on your feet."

She froze, and Merle looked up at her, holding her gaze for a moment.

"No women," Daryl said, breaking the stare between them – the old life he hated and the new one he loved – and Merle's wide eyes flew right back to Daryl's in disbelief.

"I'll get you set up in the guest room, and, um, grab you something to wear," Carol mumbled and moved quickly to get some fresh sheets.

"Aw, come on, Daryl. I been locked up a long-"

"_No women_," Daryl repeated, much more firmly. "And no drugs. You ain't bringin' that shit back in here no more. Never again."

Merle sat dumbfounded a moment, his jaw slack. Daryl was serious.

"No drugs," he finally conceded. "I'm done with it, Daryl. I swear."

Daryl chuckled and shook his head in disbelief. "I'm turnin' in," he said, getting up off the couch and effectively interrupting the uncomfortable conversation.

"What? It's fuckin' _early_," Merle complained.

"It's fuckin' _Wednesday_. Gotta work in the mornin', asshole. And if you wanna stay here, you're gettin' a fuckin' job, too. Consider that your homework for tomorrow."

Merle scoffed at that, and Daryl just shook his head as he made his way to the one tiny bathroom to brush his teeth.

Merle went to his room then and waited for Carol to bring him his things. He eyed the freshly made bed and met her at the door when she approached with a small pile of folded clothes.

"Some stuff for tomorrow. Just a couple of Daryl's things. Daryl sleeps in his, um," she gestured vaguely in the air, not wanting to say the word 'underwear' to this man who made her so uneasy. "If you want, I can bring you some pyjamas."

"This is fine," he nodded, and she returned the gesture.

"Alright, then. We don't have any extra toothbrushes, but there's some mouthwash in the medicine cabinet if you want."

"Thank you."

She looked up at him in surprise because his tone was so genuine that she'd forgotten who she was talking to for a moment. When she looked into his eyes, she only saw sincerity as he looked back at her and nodded slightly.

That's when he felt it again. The knee-jerk reaction to be kind to her. His walls couldn't stay up around this woman. She was too kind. Too _good_. And as much as he tried, he couldn't hate her. He couldn't fault his brother for wanting to be with a woman like her.

But below the surface, that anger was still there. The anger he couldn't name and couldn't control. The one that consumed him so entirely.

"Um, you're welcome," she stammered, attempting a smile.

She made her way towards the bathroom to brush her teeth then, but stopped in the doorway, turning back toward Merle.

"Merle?" she said just before he was about to shut his door. His eyebrows shot up in response, waiting on her to speak.

"It's all gonna be okay," she said, though there was something in the way she said it that sounded almost like a question.

He nodded sharply once. "Maybe."

And then they each went their own way, shutting their doors behind them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Let's kick off the week with some explicit sexual content, yes? ; ) I hope you enjoy, and thank you so much for your feedback so far! : )**

* * *

Carol returned to their bedroom and shut the door quietly.

"You shouldn't have asked him to stay," Daryl told her softly, sitting on the edge of their bed in only his underwear as he removed his remaining sock.

He watched as she took off her cardigan and folded it, draping it methodically over the back of the wooden chair in the corner of the room with a furrowed brow. His eyes remained focused on her graceful movements as she bent down to peel the nylons off her slender legs and place them over top of the cardigan.

Daryl reached an arm out towards her as soon as she straightened up and she took a step towards him. The instant she was close enough to touch, his hands went to her waist, and he pulled her over to stand in between his legs.

She brought a hand to his shoulder while the fingertips of the other brushed the hair off his forehead, and he closed his eyes to the familiar touch he loved so much.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, bringing both hands to cup his jaw, the tips of her fingers still lingering in his hair. "Are you mad at me?"

His opened his eyes then and looked straight into hers.

"Nah. You're trying to help, Carol. I get it. Just don't want you to be disappointed when he fucks it up. He ain't gonna appreciate this. He ain't gonna appreciate _you_. Just shouldn't've asked him to stay, is all."

"Maybe," she mumbled. Her eyes trained on the path of her fingers as they moved once again through his hair. She took a breath before deciding to ask her next question in a whisper, bringing her eyes back to his. "Will he hurt you?"

_That black eye._ He knew it had bothered Carol more than she let on. And he understood completely why.

"Not if he's sober, he won't. Never touched me unless he was on some shit."

Of that, Daryl was confident. Merle was the most loyal brother anyone could ask for when he was sober. He may have been a complete fuck-up in every area of his life, but when he was high, he became unpredictable. Those were the only times Daryl found it wise to lock his door at night.

"He's good for nothin'," he told her, looking into her eyes.

"He needs someone. I couldn't just send him off to sleep out on the street."

"Might do him some good."

His eyes raked over the front of her as he slid his hands from her waist, down over the swell of her hips and the sides of her thighs.

"Or a whole lot more bad. Daryl, he's your _brother_. He won't just disappear. No matter how badly you might want him to," she said as his hands made contact with the bare skin of her thighs.

He looked up at her face, watching her mouth as her tongue licked her bottom lip. His fingers toyed with the bottom hem of her dress.

And he just loved her, plain and simple. He wasn't the least bit surprised that she was giving Merle a chance. It was her good heart, doing what she could to help. To make things better.

Because that's what Carol did. She made things better.

"Might be worth it," she continued. "If it helps, it's worth a shot, isn't it? If it helps him to have someone? Maybe that's all he needs."

_If it helps._

Before she could even finish speaking, his lips were on her skin and she could barely breathe. He placed the softest of kisses along her collarbone and let his hands travel back up her thighs, underneath the fabric of her dress.

"I won't let him hurt you," Daryl whispered against her skin. His lips continued their gentle trail along her chest, her shoulders, the base of her throat. "_Ever_."

She tipped her head back to give him better access and sighed as the goose bumps appeared on her skin, and his hands slowly and softly continued to make their way higher. Over her thighs, her hips, her waist.

"He won't," she breathed, her own hands moving lightly along his broad shoulders, barely coherent over the feeling of his lips, soft on her throat.

"He'll try."

And his mouth was making its way higher, up towards her earlobe, leaving a warm trail that left her breathless as the tips of his thumbs skimmed the undersides of her breasts.

She sighed in delight and let her hands travel down the smooth skin covering his biceps, and making him shiver as she glided her fingertips back up.

He pulled her closer – just barely – but enough that she was flush against him now. He kissed her chest, over the good heart he loved so much. The one that loved him too.

Carol's hands slid up his neck until her fingers weaved themselves into his hair, tilting his face up to meet hers. Hooded blue eyes met hooded blue eyes.

"We can try," she whispered, their lips brushing together as she spoke. "If it helps. It's all we can do."

"We can try," he agreed, his whisper even softer than hers.

He let his hands travel just a bit further up her dress now, grazing her nipples with his thumbs and cupping her breasts just slightly. A low moan escaped her, hands fisting into his hair as she captured his mouth in a deep kiss, tongues dancing lazily.

His hands slid around to her back, squeezing her close in a brief but tight embrace. And then they moved lower and lower until they found her backside, squeezing with appreciation as he moaned into her mouth. He slid his fingers inside the waistband of her panties and tugged down gently, sliding them down as his hands ran over the firm swell of her ass and down the backs of her thighs. She stepped out of them when they hit the ground and flicked them out of the way with the tip of her toe.

Daryl took a moment then, and brought his mouth back to her throat as he kissed and licked and sucked, feeling her all over beneath her dress. But then he was ready for more – hungry for it – and he lifted the dress above her head, tossing it off to the side without a second thought.

His gaze travelled readily over her body as though he was seeing her naked for the first time. His hands remained firmly planted on her waist as he drank in the sight of her.

But this was so much different from that first time they'd shared together. Because back then, she'd been shy. Nervous. She had wanted the lights off, and it had made her uncomfortable when he looked at her. It was awkward, and they fumbled.

But now, seeing the hunger in his eyes made it impossible for her to look away from them. The appreciation in his gaze made her entire body buzz with excitement. He made her feel like some sort of goddess, something he worshipped and adored. Something _worth_ his worship and adoration.

He pulled her closer and lavished soft, wet, passionate kisses all over her chest, her throat, her breasts, running his hands over every inch he could reach. And she melted into him, giving herself entirely over to him, adoring in the way he made her body light on fire.

She reached down and grabbed hold of the waistband of his underwear, tugging gently to pull him up to stand in front of her. She reached up to kiss his throat as she pushed his boxer briefs down his body.

And as she pushed them lower down his legs, she sank down to her knees, and he weaved his fingers into her hair as she wasted no time taking him deep into her mouth.

She sucked and licked slowly and deeply, using her hands to intensify the sensations as much as she could. And he loved to watch her sucking him off, when he was able to keep his eyes open against the incredible pleasure that coursed through his entire body.

She loved – _loved_ – the sound of his groans, loved being able to make him feel this way. Loved that it was a whole new way of giving him something that showed him how deeply she felt for him. Having her mouth on him this way was the most intimate thing she'd ever done. It fanned the flames inside her and made the fire burn hotter.

He pulled her back up before too long though, taking hold of her hair as he kissed her deeply. Passionately. Intensely. Lovingly.

And as he kissed her, he turned her around so that the backs of her legs hit the bed, and he gently pushed her down as he climbed on top of her. He nipped away at her neck as he hovered above her, using one arm to prop himself up, and the other to feel his way slowly over her curves. He tugged her earlobe gently between his teeth and made her cry out as his fingers slid inside of her.

But just as quickly as the sound escaped her, she bit her bottom lip in an attempt to keep quiet, having almost forgotten about their unexpected guest in the next room. Daryl smirked in satisfaction, dipping his head down to claim her mouth once more, sucking and biting gently as she moaned into his mouth.

She wriggled and writhed underneath him, still not yet used to the shock at the way he knew how to touch her. The wild pleasure he gave her with only his touches, his kisses. It was like he knew exactly which buttons to push at exactly the right times. Like he'd fine-tuned their trysts down to an art form – one that he'd studied and practiced and perfected.

He knew her now – and she knew him – and they had never known it was even possible to feel a bliss such as this. Never knew it was possible to give yourself so entirely to someone else and have them _feel_ how much you loved them.

Never knew it was possible to show love this way, or what it was to even love this way.

And when his mouth made its way down her body, trailing unhurried kisses on the skin of her chest and shoulders and breasts, his tongue drawing lazy circles around her belly button, she laced her fingers in his hair and held on as her breathing picked up.

Tonight, his mouth was slow and soft and tender as it moved against her center. His hands gripped her hips as he handled her in just the way he wanted. His mouth igniting her even more, doing what she liked in just the way he knew would bring her right to the very edge.

He kissed her down there, and she trembled against him, trying hard to keep herself quiet. Letting her quaking breaths speak volumes about how much she enjoyed it, how incredible he made her feel.

He gave her one last gentle kiss before bringing himself to hover over her once again, and she reached down to guide him along her opening before bring the tip of him to her entrance. They watched one another as they often did, as he pushed himself slowly inside of her, faces close and breaths mingling with one another. Noses bumping together.

She held him tight as he began to move inside her, and she struggled to keep her eyes on him. He nudged her cheek with his nose and she indulged him, tipping her head to the side so he could trace kisses and bites along her throat once more.

He breathed in deep as his nose skimmed the junction of her neck and collarbone, letting the scent of her swim through him and ease his very being. For a fleeting moment he wished he could bite right through – consume her – because he knew that however close they could ever get would never be close enough for him.

She gasped as his teeth grazed her skin, and he thrust just a touch rougher. She turned her head back to him suddenly, capturing his mouth with hers to stifle the sounds she could no longer control with the building pressure.

And she ran her hands along his chest, his shoulders, his neck, as he plunged steadily in and out of her, the heat of their bodies wrapping around them like a blanket. He kissed her softly now and again, unable to stop himself from putting his mouth on her.

But mostly, he watched her. Because the way she looked when they were tangled up in one another was a sight he'd often dream about. One he would _daydream_ about. Replay it in his mind over and over again, all day long. The way she lost herself in him was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He felt trusted. He felt loved. And it was still so new to him that he could barely understand it. She made him want to give and give and make her feel good. She made him want to be better than he knew he was. Better than he knew he could ever be.

Her hands made their way to his face and her thumbs ran over his cheeks as she moaned, "_Daryl_," and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment to pull himself back. She had to be first.

So he reached down between them, lifting himself just enough to give his hand enough room to rub her down there, giving her the jolt that would set her on fire.

"Oh, _God_," she panted.

"Yeah?" he asked in a feverish whisper.

"Yeah," she breathed.

And she managed to hold back as she came. His name escaped her mouth in the quietest of squeals as her body shook and her back arched as the wave overtook her. He sped up his pace then, and followed a fraction of a moment later before collapsing on top of her in a heap.

She wrapped her arms and legs around him with all the strength she could muster – wishing that they would finally just fuse together – and they stayed that way as minutes passed by. She kissed his shoulder softly, clutching him tightly as he buried his face into her neck.

They belonged inside one another. Each one holding firmly to the depth of the other, every single day, filling themselves wholly with everything they'd each been missing in their lives up to this point.

Neither had ever felt this understood, this accepted. Neither had ever felt like they belonged anywhere, the way they belong here. this bed and in this moment.

_Made for each other_. It wasn't just some cliché from the movies anymore. Cut from the same cloth, like two puzzle pieces that need the other to complete their picture.

Loving so fiercely in a way neither knew was even possible. Neither even sure if what they shared could even be called love anymore, or if they'd surpassed it and were now on some level that didn't have a name yet.

And before they fell asleep, he held her. Held her so firmly against himself as she drew lazy circles on his chest with the tip of her finger. Tilting her head now and then to kiss the skin under her cheek.

She loved cuddling after sex. She would never, ever tire of the way his body warmth felt against her, the way she fit perfectly in the crook of his arm, the way his strong shoulder and chest felt beneath her cheek. It was her safe place.

And so he held her afterwards, every single time. Letting her tangle their legs together as his arm grew progressively more numb. Because it was something she loved, and he would never turn down the opportunity to hold her. Never turn down an opportunity to give her something that made her happy.

"Daryl," she whispered, keeping her face on his chest as she took a deep breath.

He hummed a sleepy reply, and she felt the vibration of his voice against her cheek.

"How come you never told Merle about me?"

He tensed instantly, and she tightened her arm around his middle, fighting against his nudge for her to adjust.

"Look at me," his voice rumbled.

And so she reluctantly pulled herself up, propping herself on her elbow and looking at his face.

He looked her square in the eye when he said, "I ain't wanted him anywhere near you."

She swallowed and nodded timidly, figuring as much, figuring it had something to do with him protecting her from Merle, but wanting to hear him say it.

"I ain't wanted him to know you, ever. Ain't wanted him to ever say your name. See your face. Ain't wanted him to ruin you. 'M sorry. I shoulda told you he called. I never listened to his messages. I shoulda told you. Shoulda told _him_."

She shook her head softly, seeing the turmoil clear in his eyes.

Because Daryl had told her enough about Merle for her to know that he didn't want to have anything to do with his brother ever again. And she knew enough about the man Daryl was to know that he wanted to keep her separate.

He wanted to protect her from Merle and all the shit he brought with him everywhere he went.

Daryl saw her as something of a deity. Someone so innocent and pure that he never wanted her to be tainted with his baggage. She'd been through enough shit in her own life, and he wanted to finally give her all the good she deserved.

So she knew about his parents. Knew his father beat them senseless almost every week, between the slaps and shoves that came almost every other day. Knew his mother had numbed her own pain with liquor, and died when her cigarette slipped out of her fingers in bed after she'd passed out in the middle of the afternoon, setting their house on fire and burning it to the ground. Knew that's when he'd moved into this little trailer home with Merle and their daddyand had lived here ever since.

"I understand," she whispered, running her thumb along his cheek before nestling back into her spot on his chest. "He was so angry when he found out who I was. He thought he had the wrong house."

"'M sorry I weren't there, Carol." His fingertips brushed the arm she had draped across his middle, up and down and back up again.

"It's not your fault, Daryl. I just…wanted you to know. He was so angry."

Daryl blinked back the tears that were suddenly stinging his eyes. The thought of Merle making Carol feel bad in any way was enough to make him sick. It was why he'd never told him about her. Why he'd erased those messages before she could hear them.

They were quiet for a few minutes after that. She kept kissing him at random, and he clasped her fingers with his own, bringing them up to hover in the air above his chest, his fingers dancing with hers.

"We're gonna get married one 'a these days," he muttered, almost to himself.

"Oh yeah?" She smiled as her eyes watched their mingling hands.

"Yeah. Get you a diamond. Have a nice wedding, whatever you want. Make you my wife."

"I don't need a diamond. Or a wedding."

"Get you whatever the hell you want, then. Anything. And we'll get outta here. Buy us a real house. Bigger one. Just me an' you."

"I'm happy where we are, Daryl. We don't need a bigger house."

He smirked to himself, staring up at the darkness. Of course she was happy where they were. It was one of the reasons he loved her so much.

"Then we stay."

"I'd change my last name. I'd be Carol Dixon."

"Ain't gotta do that."

"I want to. Unless you don't want me to."

"'Course I want you to. And I'd give you a hundred babies if I could, too."

"I know," she whispered, after a beat. "I'm sorry we won't have that. I feel…_sorry_ that…that _you_ won't have that."

He dropped her hand instantly and fitted his palm against her jaw, pulling her face up to his and drawing her in close.

"Ain't nothin' to be sorry 'bout. Don't you ever feel sorry for that."

But what he really wanted to say was that he didn't need babies. What he really wanted to say was that she was more than he ever thought he'd ever have in his life.

"I love you," she mumbled, overcome with the warmth in his eyes.

He pulled her gently towards him, kissing her softly once. Then again. And on the third kiss he let his tongue mingle with hers and nuzzled their lips together before pulling away.

"Love you back."

She put her head back down, rooting herself into _her spot_, and drifted quickly off to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you so much to all who have read and/or reviewed - it means the WORLD! : )**

**(slight trigger warning: talk of physical abuse)**

* * *

Merle awoke the next morning to the smell of bacon in the air and kitchen sounds bustling just outside his door.

It took him just a moment to realize where he was, why this wasn't the cold, uncomfortable place he'd become accustomed to waking up in. He squirmed around on the soft, clean-smelling sheets, stretching as he squinted through the slits of sunshine peeking through the shades on the window.

He stumbled out of bed, pulling on his jeans and opening the bedroom door before zipping them up, not really caring who was on the other side. He spotted Carol standing at the stove, her back to him, and he leaned against the doorframe for a moment, taking in the sight.

She was fully dressed, presumably for work. She wore another little dress, another cardigan over top of it. Her hair was all pulled back from her face today, not half up like the day before. A modest bun rested at the nap of her neck, her thick curls just barely tamed. The hand that wasn't working on the bacon was propped on her hip.

This was the sight his brother woke up to every morning, he imagined. This was the life Daryl lived now.

Her head snapped towards him, having an uneasy sense that she wasn't alone though she heard nothing over the crackling bacon, and she smiled a welcoming smile as he pushed himself off the doorframe and walked towards the counter.

"Good morning," she said cheerfully. Her smile wavering as her eyes glanced down to his bare chest.

She wished he'd put a shirt on.

"'Mornin'," was all he offered back.

She took a deep breath, keeping her gaze focused on the stove. "There's some juice in the fridge if you want it. I've set out your plate and cup on the table. Um…how do you like your eggs?"

But he just stood there and watched herin that horribly intimidating way he had. She felt exposed, judged, and she hated it.

She was supposed to be gone before he'd woken up. Daryl had insisted that he'd go into work later that morning, and leave at the same time she usually did. He didn't want her to be alone with Merle, not for a minute. But she'd asserted that it would be fine, and he reassured her that Merle was likely to sleep in until well after she left anyhow.

And she'd decided that she'd make him breakfast for when he woke up, to heat up and eat after she left. Set him a place at the table, put the bread in the toaster so that all he'd have to do is push it down. She had never expected him to be awake this early, long before she was done cooking the bacon or the eggs.

But that wasn't how it had played out at all, and her heart had jumped just a little when she'd looked up and seen him standing there in his doorway, half naked and eyeing her.

_Why wouldn't he just put a shirt on?_

"Daryl likes his over easy. Soft yolks, so he can dip his toast in," she rattled on, taking the bacon out of the pan and laying it on a plate lined with paper towels. "Do you, um, do you like them that way too?"

He ran his tongue along his teeth and paused a moment in feigned contemplation.

_Please just tell me how you want your goddamn eggs._

"Scrambled," he finally answered. "Fluffy. With ketchup on the side."

"Great!" she knew her voice was far too enthusiastic to be talking about ketchup, but his glare was nerve-wracking, and she just wanted to get out of there. "Fluffy eggscoming right up."

She cracked the eggs into a bowl and began whisking them with a fork. "Ketchup's in the fridge," she muttered, making no move to get it herself. It would have meant she'd have to brush past him, and she was more than happy to avoid that.

Because she was starting to understand why Daryl hadn't wanted Merle around her so badly. She realized exactly why she refused to get the ketchup herself. She simply didn't trust him to keep his hands to himself, not one little bit.

And he still stood there, leaning against the counter, watching as she cooked his eggs. Assessing. She didn't know what he was looking for, and she didn't know how to fill the silence.

"Where's Daryl?" He asked suddenly.

"Um, he went to work. Left about a half hour ago, I suppose."

"Goin' to work so early? Baby brother sure has changed. Never used to get outta here before noon," Merle chuckled.

Carol furrowed her brow in confusion as she turned off the heat on the stove.

"Really? He's always left this early. At least as long as I've known him," she trailed off. She pondered that for a moment, wondering why Daryl used to work such strange hours. He was such an early bird, always up at the crack of dawn, rarely even needing an alarm. Even on the weekends.

"You make him breakfast too?"

"Sure did. I try to almost every day." And he said nothing, so she just kept talking. "Some days he's out of here extra early, so he'll just grab a bowl of cereal in a hurry. And he'll leave me out a bowl too," she chuckled. "With the cereal box sitting right next to it." _Nothing_. "He'll put the spoon on top of the box, balancing it there just to be silly," her voice trailed off as she smiled nervously.

Apparently she had a tendency to prattle on when she was nervous.

"Ain't that sweet," he drawled with a sarcastic sneer, his tone suggesting that he truly thought the opposite. "He write you little love notes too?"

Carol's smile faltered slightly, her mind working overtime to try to figure him out. She was trying. She was really, really trying.

"Ketchup's in the fridge," she repeated a bit more bitterly, taking the frying pan to the table and filling his plate.

She put the pan in the sink and moved to the door as he took his place at the table, placing the ketchup and juice in front of him.

"What's this?" she heard him ask.

Carol turned abruptly with her hand already on the doorknob, to see what he was talking about.

"Um," she began, furrowing her brow. "Daryl left that for you. He wants you to, uh, look for a job today. He said he circled a few that looked good."

He slapped the newspaper section back onto the table,folding his arms and glaring right at her. She turned back to the door, grabbed her bag and was ready to bolt, but he spoke again.

"Why don't you come sit with me for a few minutes?"

And she paused, her heart hammering, unsure of what he could possibly want with her. But she couldn't just leave. She didn't want to make him angry on purpose. She just didn't know him well enough to not be complacent. Not just yet.

_I was supposed to be gone before you woke up._

She put a smile on her face and made her way back to the table, standing behind the seat directly across from him.

"Have a seat," he gestured.

"I really have to be going. I need to be at work. I'll miss my bus," she trailed off.

_Carol, do not sit down_.

His eyes ran over her, as they had before. She shifted her stance slightly, her eyes glancing at the clock on the microwave as she tucked a stray tendril behind her ear.

"So what do you do for work, _Carol_? Leaving here in such a hurry."

"I'm a secretary at an elementary school."

He nodded and sucked his teeth, completely and utterly disinterested in the details of her life.

"Carol _Sinclair_…" he mused, enunciating her last name slowly in a way that made her toes curl. "Sounds like the name of a little princess whose mommy and daddy gave her everything she ever wanted."

Her gaze shifted then, and he saw a flash in the steely blue of her eyes. He'd struck a chord.

"They did," she said simply.

_And then I was Carol Peletier for a while._

"Yeah, I bet they did. I bet you played the piano. Wore a pretty pink ribbon in your hair."

She remained silent.

_And then I was Carol Sinclair again._

"I bet you went to private schoolwith the rich little kids of your rich daddy's friends."

He ran his tongue along his teeth once more, his eyes never wavering from hers. Trying desperately to intimidate her, keep the upper hand. This girl didn't belong here, and he'd decided it was now his own personal mission to make her realize that.

Still, she said nothing.

_But the second time I was Carol Sinclair was entirely different._

"I bet you'd never even _look_ at a little boy of the likes of little Daryl, all dirty and bruised. Scared of his own shadow."

Her lip twitched, and she fought the urge to scream at him.

"I bet your parents never shouted at one another, never had a fight. I bet they never so much as raised their voices at you. I bet you never been punished a day in your life."

He stood up thenand made his way over to her. "I bet you had every fuckin' thing handed to you on a silver platter. I bet you never lived through hell on earth. I bet you ain't got a clue what that's like. Am I right, Carol _Sinclair_?"

She stood her ground, not moving an inch as he came to stand directly in front of her. So close that she could feel his seething heat radiating off of him.

And then she recognized something in herself that she never had before. It was how she realized just how far she'd come, how much she'd changed. Because when Merle got in her face, when she could feel his angry breath fanning over her skin, she didn't flinch, didn't fold in on herself and prepare to take whatever he had decided she deserved just for living the life he thought she'd lived.

Screaming. Hitting. None of that scared her right now, not in the least, even though she wouldn't have put it past a man like Merle to take it that far.

And she was proud of herself when she stayed exactly where she was. Her feet firm on the floor beneath her, proud of herself when she heard her own voice.

"What are you gonna do, Merle?" Her voice was soft, and her eyes had a bite to them that neither of them were expecting. "Are you gonna hit me? Teach me my place?"

He didn't move. His upper lip twitched with equal parts surprise and contempt. Because he didn't _want_ to hit her, but it was what he knew. It was how a man kept the power, how he ran his life. How it was supposed to be.

Her face – her soft voice – stayed even, and she still refused to move.

"You think I've never been hit by a man before?"

He flinched back then. Moved away from her just barely, his eyes boring into hers questioningly as his mind began working hard to figure out what her words meant.

Had Daryl hit this woman?

A wave of anger overcame him then, submerging him and making his whole body hot with rage for a fraction of an instant. Though he'd always imagined he and Daryl to be doomed to be horrible men for the entirety of their time in this world, the thought made him angry. Angry that Daryl would _choose_ to be with this woman, to make her his. To bring her into his home, only to use her the way their daddy had used their mama. He thought he'd taught Daryl to just avoid it altogether.

Daryl was supposed to be too good for that life.

In a way, he never realized that he'd held Daryl on a pedestal, and had always just assumed he'd choose the high road.

Merle was the fuck up. Merle was the one who avoided any far-reaching contact with a woman beyond a quick fuck just to escape having to hit her. Because Merle was the one with no self-control. And you couldn't keep a woman if you weren't prepared to show her what's what every now and then.

But she didn't offer up any more information than that, and he slumped away from her entirely, defeated. His fury towards her dissipating in an instant.

"Your eggs are getting cold," she said. This time with a voice that was spiked heavily with disdain.

And with that, she walked to the door and swung it open.

"Daryl said you'd better have a job by the time he gets home tonight, or he'll want you out of his house."

He nodded tersely. His gaze now focused on his plate, and he worked hard to make his next words sound unaffected by the conversation they'd just had, clearing his throat before he dared to speak.

"Thank you, sugarplum."

She offered the barest quirk of her lipsbut said nothing before making her way swiftly out the door, and slamming it behind her.

* * *

Carol was distracted at work. All morning long she had a hard time focusing. Had forgotten entirely that Carl Grimes was due to be at school late because his mother was taking him to the dentist that morning.

She worked slower, not able to shake the unease she felt after her confrontation with Merle that morning.

"Are you alright, dear?"

Carol turned her head swiftly to the familiar, soothing voice. The woman she worked with every day, who she felt such deep affection for.

She smiled through a sigh, wanting to reassure her that it was nothing to be concerned about. "I'm fine, Mrs. Greene. I'm sorry. I'm a little dreamy today."

"Oh, darlin', it's nothing to lose your head over. But you know I'm here to help if it's anything you'd like to talk about."

"Thank you, Mrs. Greene. I know."

The older lady laughed her kind, chime-like giggle. "And I am still waiting on the day that you start calling me Josephine."

Carol laughed right along with her, unable to keep a sour mood around the sweetness of her friend. "You know it just wouldn't feel right."

"Must have been raised right. A little too right," Mrs. Greene teased, before getting up to make her way to the photocopier.

The moment she turned back to her desk, Carol's brow furrowed at the reminder of her upbringing and her parents. She'd always wished they could have met Daryl. They'd never have accepted her being with someone like him, she knew for certain, but she had convinced herself they'd be glad for her happiness.

It was a thought that comforted her, no matter how badly she knew it would never be true.

Because they would never have approved of a man like Daryl. Never have approved of the place she now lived in. Never have approved of the way she chose to live her life, instead being concerned that she hadn't settled down with a nice, clean, wealthy man who could take care of her so that she wouldn't have to work a day in her life.

But they'd never meet Daryl anyhow, so she tried tucking away the thoughts from her mind.

The phone rang then, bringing her abruptly out of her reverie.

"Good day, Jonesboro Elementary," she answered in her usual cheerful work voice.

"Hey, sweetheart," came the smooth voice on the other end of the line. And just like that, Carol's face instantly dissolved into a smile. He rarely called her anything but her name, and when he did, she was sure he had no idea how weak in the knees it would make her.

"Hey, Daryl," she crooned softly into the receiver.

"You alright? What happened this morning? Did you see him?"

"Actually," she began, glancing around to make sure she had a semblance of privacy. "He woke up while I was frying up the bacon. But it's alright," she tacked on quickly, hearing his intake of breath on the other end and cutting him off before he could start. "It's fine. We made small talk. I told him you wanted him to find a job today. And then I left."

She wasn't sure why she left out the most important details of their conversation.

"Alright, as long as he didn't say anything crazy. Make you upset or nothin'."

"Nope, everything was great," she fibbed, wincing slightly at how wrong it felt. "So, are you on lunch?"

"Yeah. Thanks for the sandwiches," he said earnestly. He thanked her every day for the lunches she made for him.

"You're welcome, baby," she said quietly. "Are you home for dinner tonight?"

He often worked late, his longstanding habit of squirreling away extra cash for his brother's drug and prison habits a difficult one for him to break. He'd come to rely on his cushion, especially since he had refused to blow it on bail for Merle's latest stint in the clink.

It turned out that having money around was something he liked.

"Yeah, I'll be there. Come by here on your way home, alright? We'll go back together."

"Daryl-" she began, not wanting him to worry anymore about her being alone with Merle. She could handle it, she felt positive that she could.

"Just meet me here," he insisted softly. "Please. I'd feel better if you did."

"Alright, I will. See you around four?"

"See you around four," he agreed.

Her afternoon went much better after speaking with Daryl, hearing his voice. And she wouldn't admit how much she loved the idea of meeting him at the shop so that they could go home together.

A united front. That's what they were. And it seemed that the sooner Merle realized that, the better.

She'd had to wait for him for a little while before he could leave for the day, and they arrived home around five fifteen to see Merle laying on the couch with a bag of chips, a beer, and the television remote in his hand. Two cans of pop were strewn sloppily on the coffee table.

Daryl and Carol spared a look at one another, and Daryl rolled his eyes before making his way to the bedroom to change out of his soiled work clothes.

Carol flitted immediately to the kitchen to preheat the oven before prepping the chicken to bake and setting the pot of rice to boil over the stove.

Her eyes lingered on the sink full of dirty dishes as she attempted to keep her tone light. "So, did you have any luck finding work today, Merle?"

Daryl appeared in the open bedroom doorway then, pulling a shirt on as he listened to his brother's response.

"Nah, nothin' today, sweet cheeks," was all he said before changing the channel once more.

Daryl leveled a glare her way before joining her to help with the meal prep.

"Good thing I found you a job myself then, asshole," he bit out.

That had Merle's attention. He sat up abruptly on the couch as a few stray potato chips fell to the floor.

"Dale's towing company's looking for a new overnight guy. Congrats. You start Monday," Daryl said flatly but with an edge to his tone. He knew Merle wouldn't have spent a minute of his day looking for a job. And if he wanted to stay this time, Daryl would make him work for it.

Merle said nothing, only staring open-mouthed at his brother in a way that almost looked like he was offended.

Daryl pulled a butcher knife from the drawer in front of him and began trimming the chicken as Carol busied herself with the peas and carrots. Sarcasm dripped heavily from his mouth as he spoke his next words.

"Welcome home."


	6. Chapter 6

**This chapter contains graphic descriptions of abuse as well as discussion of pregnancy trauma and a stillborn. Please take caution while reading this, as I myself had trouble writing it.**

**Thank you so much for reading! xx**

* * *

Daryl had woken up early on Saturday morning, just as he always did. The sun shone a bit brighter through the slats of the shades over the window, compared to the weekdays when he'd rise extra early before it had made its way up higher in the sky.

He stretched lazily and turned his head, like he did every morning, and drank in the vision of his girl sleeping soundly next to him. Hair piled messily on top of her head and lips parted slightly. It was when she was at her most beautiful. Entirely vulnerable and bared down to her very soul, her face was a picture of tranquility that gave him an odd sense of peace. Sleeping with someone, really _sleeping_, he found, was more intimate than anything he'd ever thought a person could experience.

And waking up next to someone – next to her – was better than waking up alone. And it was something he'd never know to be true until it happened. Never thought twice about his loneliness, because before, he never really knew he was lonely.

He watched as she wiggled around, turning to sleep more comfortably on her side, facing away from him. His eyes trailed over the dip in her waist and then the upwards curve of her hip under the thin blanket, before turning himself to face her and wrapping an arm around her middle.

He pulled her towards himself as he inched his way closer to press right up against her back, and he felt the shift in her breathing as she roused softly from sleep.

He heard the soft "_mmm..._" of her sigh as she settled herself back into him, running her hand gently along the arm that held her tightly.

"Morning," she whispered, her voice thick with sleep and contentment. It was her favoritething about the weekends, being woken up this way. Getting to stay in bed as long as they wanted together, doing whatever it was their bodies felt like doing in the moments they had before rising to face the day ahead..

He responded by pushing his prominent erection into her bottom – his _morning wood_, she'd laughed when he'd called it that – earning a giggle from her in response.

He smiled into her neck as his hand reached a little higher and squeezed her breast gently before he flattened his palm on her stomach and moving his hand slowly lower. He smiled a bit wider when he felt her squirm under his touch in anticipation.

He chuffed out a quiet laugh as she turned around to face him and press her body up against his once more, as close as she could possibly get to him, smiling sweetly as her tired eyes adjusted to being awake. She took his face in her hands and kissed him softly on the mouth before moving her lips to his throat. She felt the firm bulge that pressed up against her thigh twinge just slightly, and she smiled into his skin before darting the tip of her tongue out to lick the hollow at the base of his throat.

Daryl sighed, stifling a moan, as Carol's hand made its way lower and her fingertips flitted over the length of him through the thin fabric of his underwear from base to tip.

"Ow, _fuck_!"

The yelp from outside the door made them both jump and brought them harshly back to the moment. To their new reality. To Merle, living with them for who knew how long, seemingly breaking something outside their bedroom door and hurting himself in the process.

Carol frowned and Daryl groaned, exaggerating an eye roll before kissing Carol's nose and reluctantly rolling out of bed.

"Fucker," he mumbled as he pulled on a pair of sweatpants and grabbed a t-shirt from the chair. Daryl yanked open the door and closed it behind him so that Carol could dress in peace.

And as Carol slipped back into her discarded nightgown and wrapped her thin robe around her body, she imagined it couldn't have been anything too severeas she couldn't hear the two men really arguing about anything at all.

She emerged from her bedroom to the odd sight in front of her. Daryl was getting three glasses out of the cupboard, and Merle was flipping a pancake at the stove. Carol's brow furrowed in confusion, and she attempted at stifling her smile as she made her way towards them.

"Pancakes?" she asked Merle, by way of _Good Morning_.

"I make the best fuckin' pancakes in the world, little darlin'," he told her matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, it's the _only_ thing he can make," Daryl mumbled, pouring juice into their cups.

Carol smirked, not entirely sure what to make of this situation, wondering if she was dreaming the whole thing as her eyes travelled between the two men. But she figured, while she was here, she might as well gather some fruit and start cutting it up to eat alongside their hot breakfast.

And Merle was right. These pancakes were the best she'd ever eaten.

"How on earth did you get so good at making pancakes?" she asked incredulously through a mouthful.

"No fuckin' clue," he answered as he grabbed for the syrup. "It's like a gift or some shit."

"I don't know how you survived on my pancakes all this time, Daryl," she joked. "Since you know what you've been missing out on."

"Your pancakes are just _fine_," he reassured her with a smile, and shoved a large forkful into his mouth.

And so the three of them ate their pancakes this way in amiable silence, passing one another the syrup or fruit when asked, or cracking a joke here and there. Carol stole glances at each of them now and again, earning a smile or a wink from Daryl each time.

Merle's focus was on his plate as he ate with gusto.

"Thanks for breakfast, Merle," Carol said quietly as they were nearing the end of the stack that sat between them on the table.

"Ain't nothin', darlin'," he replied with barely a glance her way. "My way of thankin' y'all for your…_generous hospitality_."

The way he said those last two words had Carol's smile wavering just a bit. It was clear that Daryl had caught on to her hesitation by the way he cleared his throat before he spoke through his mouthful.

"Startin' at Dale's on Monday, yeah?"

Merle grunted in agreement. "Graveyard shift. _Fuck_."

Suddenly the whole mood of their meal took a turn, and she cursed herself once more for giving Merle the benefit of the doubt. He manipulated every conversation according to his moods, it seemed, and she was having a hard time keeping up.

It had been a long time since she'd had to adapt herself to a man like him.

She knew from experience that if she fought back just a little, giving him the cold shoulder on the outset like he deserved, he'd be turning it around on her so fast it could give a person whiplash. He'd blame her for being unkind. He'd blame her for being unwelcoming and driving a wedge between _family_.

And so she vowed to keep trying, though her patience was already wearing thin.

She wasn't _that_ Carol anymore. The taciturn Carol who let these types of men dictate her every mood was supposed to be long gone. She was supposed to have died, right along with the hope that had been growing in her belly of the birth of a new life.

"Gotta start somewhere," Daryl mumbled,his aggravation clear in his voice. "Do good an' Dale'll give you better hours, I bet."

Merle scoffed and shoved a large forkful into his mouth.

"Make some money, maybe find yourself a place," Daryl continued, his tone growing a bit quieter.

_Wrong words, wrong time._

Merle chuckled humorlessly, and a chill ran down Carol's spine. She gritted her teeth at her instinctive reaction, hating what this man did to her. Hating how _little_ he made her feel, and how hard she had to fight to stay true to her new self. She refused to be that woman again, to _anyone_.

"That's right," Merle mused aloud. "Gotta find me a place to _live_."

His eyes cut into Carol, and she sank back in her seat. Her instincts tried tomake herself as small as possible. She hated the attention he gave her.

He made her feel wrong. He made her feel slight. Minor. Unimportant. Insignificant.

She couldn't bear to look Daryl in the eye as she battled the feelings. This wasn't the Carol he knew. It wasn't the Carol she ever wanted him to know.

"You clean out the gutters yesterday like I asked you to?" Daryl asked him suddenly.

And Carol's eyes flitted towards him, though she kept her head down towards the hands that fiddled in her lap. She knew what point Daryl was trying to make. The way that simple question was his way of defending her.

Because Merle didn't clean the gutters.

And so the older man jeered at the question, sounding insulted. "You giving me _chores_ now, little brother?"

"You wanna stay here, you gotta pull your weight. We all got shit to do. Me an' Carol got _jobs_. We _pay_ for this fuckin' place. You wanna stay? Fuckin' _do_ somethin'. The job's just a start."

They glared at one another as Carol swallowed hard against the tension that never seemed to disappear now. And then Merle shoved himself away from the table and trudged to his room, slamming the door behind him. Like some sort of overgrown adolescent. A large, threatening, dangerous adolescent.

Carol saw the way Daryl shut his eyes tight against his anger, clenched his jaw as he pushed it down lower. And just as he opened his eyes again and reached for her plate to take to the sink, she stopped him by placing a hand gently on his forearm.

His eyes shot to hers, tense and heated. She shook her head.

"Leave it," she whispered.

He let go of the plate but didn't move his arm, instead dropping his head down to his outstretched elbow with a frustrated exhale. Carol picked up his plate and piled it on top of hers, squeezing his shoulder before weaving her fingers into his hair and pulling gently, instead of speaking.

There was nothing to say.

She knew she'd made a mistake, letting Merle into the house. Letting him stay for dinner, letting him stay there until…_something_.

But as many times as she asked herself what she could have done differently, she couldn't think of a thing. Because Merle was Daryl's brother, and although he'd given Daryl more trouble than anything else, he wouldn't go away. He wouldn't fade into the background of their life and be someone they just used to know.

They were brothers, and Daryl was a loyal man.

Daryl wanted to believe that he could leave Merle in the dust and move on to live his own life – a better life than he'd ever had with his older brother. He wanted to believe he'd shaken his old life away and built himself a shiny new one without looking back. But Carol knew just as well as he did that he'd never be able to live with himself that way.

So they'd each accepted in their own way that this was something they had to do. They had to do what they could to help Merle get ahold of some good in his life. _Anything_.

Just as Carol had washed the last dish, she looked up to the sound of the chair scraping against the floor as Daryl finally stood from his seat. She grabbed a tea towel and dried her hands as she scurried towards him.

"Are you alright?" she muttered.

He turned towards her but kept his gaze downcast, placing a hand on her hip instead and squeezing as he pulled her slightly closer.

"Gonna go help Mrs. M with that light."

She nodded but replied with a whispered "_Okay_" when she realized he couldn't see her.

Her throat tightened as she realized the magnitude of her mistake.

"I'm sorry," she choked out, quashing her tears.

He closed his eyes and his head dropped even lower. "Don't. 'S alright. It's not you, Carol. It's him. It's Merle."

And the way he couldn't look at her then, she understood entirely why. It was the way she couldn't look at him earlier, while they were eating. When Merle had wrapped his hands around her old self and dragged her kicking and screaming to the surface. She could see that he was doing the same to the old Daryl.

She recognized the shame in Daryl's eyes, in the way they couldn't make themselves look at her. In the way his shoulders slumped and his head bowed. In the way he brought a hand up to his face and pressed the heel of it into his eye in frustration before turning away from her and letting his hand drop from her hip as he made his way to their bedroom.

He didn't want her to meet his old self either.

Daryl was fighting his own battle, just as she was fighting hers, against Merle. It had only been three days, but he had already succeeding in chipping a layer of their new selves away.

It was only a second or two of watching him retreat before she propelled herself forward, her small hands grasping at his strong arm and gently tugging him to a stop.

She was grateful when he didn't pull away – when he turned, instead, towards her and focused his gaze on her shoulder. It was more than she could have asked from him in that instant.

Carol took two steps until she was practically flush against him, bringing her hands up in one swift motion and placing them on either side of his neck. She nudged his face softly until his reluctant eyes finally met hers. And she could see the shame in them that she recognized so well in herself.

"Don't forget to wear the sleeveless flannel," she whispered.

The flash in his eyes almost choked her, if she'd had a moment to even register the bubble in her throat. Instead, he crushed his mouth against hers, placing his hands on her waist and squeezing her there before changing his mind and bringing them to her face. Then into her hair. Because really, he wanted to touch all of her, and was loosely dissatisfied that he couldn't.

He kissed her hard and she felt a quiver in his lips, so she kissed him back harder in hopes that he'd feel how much she loved him so that they wouldn't have to talk anymore.

Daryl drew strength from her as she offered it to him.

She knew him. She knew his struggles because she'd had the same ones. She felt his pain in the most literal sense, and he took comfort in the safety she gave him.

Carol was the one person in his life that he felt confident had never judged him. Never faulted him for his loyalty to the bad people. The people he loved who had treated him so horribly and for so long that he never knew the difference. Never knew there was another way to be looked at – cared for – until _her_.

His cowardice now, the way he'd visibly weakened in the last three days, was shameful to him. Until this kiss reminded him that he had nothing to be ashamed of.

_It's not you. It's him. It's Merle._

She was throwing his words back at him through the movement of her mouth on his.

_Don't forget to wear the sleeveless flannel._

She didn't need to talk about it. Didn't need _him_ to talk about it. Her kiss told him as much.

_Let's not talk about it, but I love you._

He garnered strength from it and didn't care if it made him seem weak to be so dependent on her.

She knew him. She knew the child he was and the man it had turned him into. The way the mere presence of his brother was enough to knock him down to his knees, no matter how hard he fought. No matter how badly he thought he'd beaten it. She _knew_, plain and simple.

He broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers, and she watched his face as he squeezed his eyes shut once more. She ran her fingers through his hair, smoothing it off his forehead as she pulled back, and he continued on his way. To put on his sleeveless flannel and make his way over to their elderly neighbor's house, to do her a favor.

Because that is what the new Daryl does.

* * *

The rest of the weekend passed in awkward tension with the three of them dancing around one another in hopes to keep conversation minimal and hold some sort of peace in their home.

Carol sat on the porch swing with a cup of tea that mild Monday evening. The sun had set not long ago as Merle made his way outside to head to his first shift at work. She was grateful when he didn't spare her a glance, hoping he'd simply leave the house and ignore her completely. Instead, he sat down on the top step of the porch and pulled out a cigarette.

"You see that light?" Merle asked her, jerking his head towards the porch light above them as he lit the cigarette.

She glanced up at it and nodded, but remained silent.

"That light's been out for years. _Years_. Longer 'n I can remember. Old man never fixed it. I never fixed it. Daryl never fixed it. Then _you_ come along – little mouse that you are – and all of a sudden shit's workin' again. Fuckin' porch is even painted a different color. Looks brand fuckin' new."

He chuckled as though it was funny, as though she was supposed to understand something that she just didn't.

But she knew exactly what he was accusing her of. He was accusing her of taking over Daryl's life. Changing him into someone else entirely that his own brother didn't even recognize anymore.

And she didn't know what to say, and since he clearly wasn't done, she didn't say anything.

"I know your type, _mouse_," he drawled, fixing her with a disapproving gaze.

She stared right back, refusing to speak so that he wouldn't hear the squeak that was sure to come out.

_Little mouse._

_You don't know me._

"You think you're better than he is." It wasn't a question. "Think you'll get him to marry you. Put a little bun in your oven. Buy you a fancier house. Think you can just come on in here and take over, take away everything he ever was? Turn him into someone you want him to be? Think he'll follow you around like a lost little puppy because he ain't as good as you?"

She ground her teeth together and waited. Beyond glad that Daryl wasn't around for this conversation, because even though he knew about her life – knew about it all – she'd never wanted him to see the old Carol. The victim she used to be.

"Makin' him fix lights. Fix that old fuckin' swing your ass is sittin' on. Like none 'a it ain't good enough for you. You come in here and bring your fuckin' coffee table and your fuckin' flowers. Put fuckin' pictures on the goddamn wall. Cookin' dinner and washin' the fuckin' dishes like Suzie Fuckin' Homemaker."

He chuckled unsmilingly, and a chill ran down her spine.

"He don't know how to be with no woman, never done anything more than fuckin' some random whore now an' again to get his rocks off. He ain't never gonna want no babies runnin' around. He ain't never gonna get it done for ya. _Nah_." He shook his head and took a drag of his cigarette. And his next words held a tone so condescending that he may as well have been speaking to a child. "He'll just hurt you, little darlin'. Just like our daddy did to our mama. Just beat you down til there ain't nothin' left of ya. He don't know any other way."

She glared at him for a minute or two, while he smoked. She wasn't even sure he realized she was still there as he stared off into the night sky.

"Well, lucky for me I've already had all of that," she muttered, drawing his attention back to her. She looked at him, no trace of kindness left. No trace of humor.

She saw the question in his eyes, and so she told him.

"I had a baby once. Well, almost. About six years ago." And now it was her turn to smirk somberly. "I was married, too. And our baby – _his_ baby – it was a girl. I was gonna name her Sophia. After my mother. See, my parents passed away when I went to college. They were driving to visit me one weekend and had an accident. And they were all the family I had, so I always told myself my son would take my father's name and my daughter would take my mother's.

"I met Edward not long after they passed, and he was just so charming. Handsome. And he was older than I was and made a good living. He promised me everything, and I thought my life would still get to be perfect, and I wouldn't have to be alone anymore. So I let him put a big ol' diamond on my finger and married him not six months after that. Moved right into the big house he bought us.

"I thought he'd change when I got pregnant. Thought maybe he'd quit putting his hands on me, thought maybe a baby would make him happy. Our sweet little girl."

Her eyes were distant as she relived her life for him, even though she hadn't a clue why she even bothered with Merle. But for whatever reason, she wanted him to know he was wrong about her. Wrong about Daryl.

"But he never did stop. And that baby girl kept on growing. Strong heartbeat, she had. Active. I could feel her wiggling around in there all day long." And this time she did smile for real, remembering the feeling as her hand flitted to her lower belly. "And he kept getting angrier, and I never knew why. Til one night over dinner, I asked him what he thought of the name. _Sophia_. I thought maybe he would like her better if she had a name. But he just started shouting, and then he stood from the table, and just left his plate half-eaten, and he came over and pulled me up, by my hair, and he dragged me to the top of the basement stairs. Shouting, right in my ear. He wouldn't _quit_."

Her voice was detached, almost like she was talking about someone she didn't even know.

"Then he opened the door and shoved me down before I could even think. And I hit my head, I remember, on the concrete floor. And he came down the steps after me and started kicking. Hard. And then he just stopped. So I got up eventually, when it got quiet, and I went back into the kitchen. His plate was sitting on the table, and it was empty. He finished his meal after killing our baby, and then he just…left the house. That's when the cramps started, so I called 911. Less than seven weeks to go, and I would have had my baby. So I birthed her all by myself. And I held her tiny dead body. And then I went to the police."

She saw the pity in his eyes, the guilt, though he was very obviously trying to push it back. She saw the way it felt for him to be proven wrong, how badly he hated it. And she knew he was thinking of his mother, because that's who this story had made Daryl think of.

And Daryl had told her she was strong, after she told him about it. He told her his mother wasn't so strong and that her ending wasn't as happy as Carol's. He admired her.

Carol felt powerful, all of a sudden. Hearing herself tell Merle her story just made her feel stronger. She was no longer that weak woman that Ed had turned her into. She was no longer alone in the world with no education or job or independence.

She'd found herself again, and in the process she'd found Daryl. And Daryl was everything.

And Carol would be damned to sit back and listen to _anyone_ put him down this way.

"And _Daryl_," she continued sharply. His eyes snapped back to hers after they'd drifted thoughtfully to the cigarette he slowly put out into the wood of the painted porch steps. "Daryl is nothing like the man I married. You might think you know him better than me, but you can't. Not if you think he'd ever lay a finger on me that way.

"I've had the marriage already, Merle. The big diamond ring. The nice house. A baby. And I've been beaten down until there wasn't anything left of me.

"Putting things in a pretty package doesn't make it good. _Daryl_ is good. Right down to his bones, he's a good man. He doesn't hold it against me that I'll never be able to give him a child if he wanted one. And I will live with him in this little box with nothing on my finger until the day I die.

"So, don't ever speak about him like that. Not ever."

The silence was thick between them, and it didn't take her long before she decided that she'd had more than enough of this conversation.

But she needed to drive the point home. Make him see that it wasn't her who'd made Daryl move on. It was Merle.

"The first time I ever came here, this swing was off its hinges, the chains were all piled up in that corner over there. And it was upside down on the floorboards. Sandpaper lying around, and a bucket of paint with a brush laying over top of it just there. Daryl had been sanding it that day, he'd told me. And that light? That light was shining as brightly as it is now. I reckon Daryl fixed it long before I came along."

She watched with bitter satisfaction as the hostile look on his face dissolved into one of defeat, and stood to make her way inside to her bed, to her man.

She stopped in the doorway, though, and turned back to Merle. "Daryl and I painted this porch together. Twice, actually. He really hated the first color he chose so we redid it. And if I ever see you putting out a cigarette on it again, I'll burn the next one right into your skin."

Carol let the screen door smack shut as she left him behind, and he smiled ruefully to himself as he leaned his head back on the post behind him.

This little mouse sure could roar.


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you to everyone reading, and to those who have sent me your lovely reviews : ) oxox**

**This chapter is a "bridge" chapter - not much by way of plot advancement, but it contains a look back to Caryl's early days (the first of a few), which I love. I hope you enjoy! xx**

* * *

He would never be able to forget the day he'd said what he said to her.

_I'm thinkin' maybe I wanna take you out for dinner, Miss Carol._

Everything about him had changed on that day.

He'd shocked himself when those words had come out of his mouth. But he could never deny the stirring in his belly each and every time he saw her car waiting for him to fix at the shop. He could never deny the flips and twists it did every time she came to pick it up. The best moments were when he'd hand her the keys and sometimes the tips of his fingers would touch the warm palm of her hand. It was always over much too soon.

Because there was something about her that had pulled him in. Like they were magnets, the two of them. Just the mere sight of her reduced him to nothing of the man he'd always assumed he was. The sound of her soft, honeyed voice. It sang to him.

In the moment between his offer to buy her dinner and her sweet acceptance, he felt as though he'd been kicked in the gut. That split second of watching her smile falter for a brief moment with her surprise, the shock of the fact that he'd actually said it out loud and the unbridled fear of rejection, had the wind knocked clean out of him.

And then she said yes, and he felt his face grow warm. Felt the breath rush out of him in a swift gust. He'd smiled. The relief was overwhelming, and he'd been giddy for the rest of the afternoon.

_Well, maybe I wouldn't mind that so much._

He'd just replayed it over and over in his head.

He was so terribly nervous for the date he'd asked her on, not having a clue what was supposed to happen. Because before Carol, Daryl had never been on a date. Never asked a woman to spend time with him that way. A quick fuck here and there just to get his rocks off was all he'd ever allowed himself, all he ever thought he'd have in his life, or thought he deserved. All he ever thought there _was_, really.

But, _Carol_…it was like she was made especially for him. Like the sole purpose of her existence was to knock his entire world upside down.

He'd never really_ thought_ of anyone.

To think of someone when they weren't around him meant trying to figure out how long it would take to make bail. Figuring out how the hell to pay off the debts owed for substances that were already long gone. Figuring out what kind a mood they'd be in when he got home. High or sober. Mad or indifferent. Full of misplaced rage, or so far gone that the world was just a cloud. A haze of nothingness that wasn't really there. An empty shell, sitting on his couch or lying half-naked on the bathroom floor.

But Carol was on his mind every day, and it was odd to him that it wasn't about anything bad. There were things about her that made him feel good. Her smile, her soft voice, her teasing. The key hand-off.

Daryl never knew what the _goodness_ was, could never pinpoint what it meant. All he knew was that seeing her meant a few short minutes of an escape from himself. From his life. From Merle.

He never imagined a woman like her would want to be with him, or even just want to be _around_ him. He could never understand why he'd always looked forward to her visits to pick up her keys. Couldn't understand why he felt disappointed that they couldn't last longer. He never imagined he'd have anything to offer someone like her. Never imagined she could ever understand the life he'd lived, or be able to be happy with him once she did.

He never thought he'd ever _want_ anyone like her – _her_ – to be a part of his life. Never thought he'd feel such a need to make anyone else happy. Because he wanted it so bad, for her to be happy. There was something about her – _something_ – and he wanted her to have it all.

But they'd talked, at that dinner date. They'd both talked and they'd both listened, and Daryl had never felt the wind knocked out of him harder or faster. The life she'd lived – the things she'd been through – he understood where her kindness came from. He understood, then, how it was that she didn't judge him. Judge his torn clothing and filthy hands. His greasy hair and his crude, unrefined disposition.

It was because she knew that a well-kept man didn't translate to being a good man.

So they just sat in that booth at that diner on the edge of town, and talked until breakfast was being served again.

He couldn't even believe he'd wanted to talk to her in the first place. Tell her things, and hear the things she had to tell him. Women had never been made for that, in his mind. He'd been taught that women were for nothing other than to satisfy a need. A primal, basic need to have your fill and be done with them. It had never occurred to him – not ever – that his daddy and his brother could be wrong.

He'd grown up never understanding why anyone would get married. Why a man and a woman would _choose_ to marry and live together and torture each other with their hatred. Why put yourself through a marriage when you could just scratch the itch somehow when it finally became too much of a distraction to ignore and be on your merry way? _Why?_

And for a while he thought something might be wrong with him because he didn't want her that way. He didn't want to use her for a quickie and send her packing. He didn't want her to be that person to _any_ man. And when he tried to picture it – tried to picture her as one of those used-up women underneath him that he could get his hands on – it made him mad. A strange type of mad that he'd never felt before.

So he'd decided he could never see her again. Because what would be the purpose? He couldn't be her _friend_, whatever that meant. He worked and went home and spent his time making sure his deadbeat brother didn't die from some sort of overdose, or alcohol poisoning, or STD. Now that Merle was in prison, his free time was spent working some more. Making some cash on the side because, when Merle was locked up, he always realized how little he had in his life.

And he wouldn't fuck her – he couldn't. Not like that.

No. He wanted her slowly. In a bed – _his_ bed – with sheets. Clean sheets. He wanted to make her breakfast in the morning. And he wanted to talk some more.

But that just wasn't real. It wasn't a thing that happened to real people, least of all him. It was in his mind, and that's where it would stay. And he'd thought a lot about it, since that night at the diner, how they would talk and eat breakfast.

He loved thinking those thoughts, and so he kept on doing it. Holding on to the _happy_ they gave to him, thinking that his thoughts alone were the gift he was getting out of his life.

So he'd driven her home from their date and didn't kiss her goodnight – or technically, good morning – because he didn't know how. Didn't know if she wanted it, or how he was supposed to even _know_ if she wanted it. And he grew more and more nervous as she lingered in his truck, telling him she had a good time. Joking about how she'd sleep until dinnertime since the sun was already peeking over the horizon.

He wanted to keep her there somehow. Just keep her _right there_ so that he could look at her and hear her voice whenever he wanted. Because his thoughts about her were always so fresh after she'd been at the shop for her keys. He'd picture it all so much more vividly after his brief encounters with her.

But he didn't know how, and so she eventually left without a kiss or a promise or anything else.

And he didn't call her. Didn't try to reach her. He figured it was over, and that was the most he'd ever get. The closest he'd ever get to _whatever that was_ with a woman – with her. And he figured he'd just hold onto the memory of their night together and go back to the way things were before.

Before Carol. Because that's how he classified his life now.

Before Carol. After Carol.

But he just never realized that once you crossed the line to _After Carol_, you could never go backwards.

About two weeks after their date, he'd shown up to work and saw her car there – waiting for him. And it suddenly hit him how badly he'd fucked up by not calling her. How much he'd been keeping from himself by staying away. Because now that he knew he'd be seeing her again when she came for her keys, he was like a dying man in a desert, desperate for a drop of water.

He should have called her. Even though he hadn't the faintest idea of what he would say – _should_ say – at least he would have heard her voice.

Daryl didn't think about how his unawareness would hurt her, how she might have felt slighted by his ignorance. He simply didn't think it would have affected her at all. She'd given him the gift of her stories and the sound of her voice, and the time to be near her and breathe the sweet scent she carried around with her. But he hadn't the dimmest impression that he'd been giving her anything in return.

Because if you weren't anything to begin with, what would you possibly have to give?

He fixed her car before he did anything else that day, and left her a message to come pick it up. He figured she'd be surprised to hear his voice on her machine, telling her the car was ready. He never called her – it wasn't really his job – but some sort of switch had been flipped, and he was suddenly desperate for her.

She stopped by the shop on her way home from work. His face grew hot the moment he laid eyes on her, stepping tentatively through the door. She smiled at T-Dog as she entered, and they had a quick exchange, as they usually did, before she made her way to the counter.

He watched as she took the clipboard that Axel handed to her and signed it as she always did, before making her way tentatively over to him. No sign of the smiles she usually wore for him. No sign of the easy banter they usually held with one another.

She kept her gaze lowered and cleared her throat quietly as she approached.

And his throat closed up at the look on her face. It felt like she was upset with him, like she didn't want to be there anymore. It was different, entirely different. He hadn't the faintest idea what to even say to her when she wore that face.

It turned out that he didn't have to, because she broke the silence first.

"Thank you," she said simply, glancing up at him so briefly that he wasn't sure she could even know for certain it was him.

"Anytime," he mumbled back, watching her face as he held out the keys.

She took them and looked up at him again, for a fraction of a moment longer, and her mouth curved up into the smallest and quickest of smiles. As though she was forcing herself to be friendly.

And just like that, another punch to the gut.

It was then he realized it was impossible. He _had_ to see her again. Every day forever, if he could help it.

"I wanna see you again," he'd stuttered randomly, catching her attention as her eyes snapped up to his.

"You didn't call," she said simply, shrugging a shoulder and moving her eyes back to the ground.

"I didn't know you wanted me to."

"I wanted you to."

She looked at him then. Fixing him with some type of eagerness that had him fighting himself to stay where he was.

He paused for a moment as his eyes drank in the sight of her. Taking a beat to let the blueness of her eyes wash through him.

"Let me take you out again," he announced. And then he shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing that came out wrong. "Uh, I mean…_can I_ take you out again?"

Her eyes shifted around them, not knowing exactly how to respond. Because she wanted to go with him – everywhere, all the time – but she didn't want to be strung along for whenever it suited him. Didn't want him to just not call her again. She'd been an idiot before. Let herself be treated horribly by a man.

And because she blamed herself for that, she promised herself she'd be stronger next time, if there ever was a next time. She didn't want to make the same mistake again and give herself over to someone who could very well hurt her.

"I'm sorry," he offered, unsure if those words were even appropriate. "I just…I wanna see you again."

And the sincerity in his eyes and his voice stopped her dead in her tracks. His gaze was unwavering, captivating her and making her see him for the first time all over again.

So she just nodded, her head moving on its own accord. "Okay," she said.

"Tonight? Now?"

She swallowed. "Um," she shook her head. "No."

His smile dropped suddenly, and he swallowed against the hurt.

"I mean, I can't tonight," she continued with trepidation. Her eyes were locked on her twisting fingers, and then she peeked up at him shyly. "Tomorrow?"

He smiled, exhaling the breath he held with relief.

Gone was the easy repartee they'd had together, before. Gone were the easy smiles they'd given to one another, the brush of their hands as he handed her the keys. Things were so different now. A different he wasn't prepared for and didn't know how to handle. But it was a different he coveted nonetheless. It was a different he would never want to give back.

Because she'd gotten him to break his tedium, to add something new and exciting to his life. So instead of going home alone to his empty house, and instead of working that extra shift every now and again, Daryl would take her back to that booth at that diner on the edge of town, and they would talk until breakfast was being served again.

And every single time he'd leave her on her doorstep, he'd feel an inexplicable lightness. She was exorcising his demons, one by one.

* * *

When Carol let the screen door slam shut behind her, he glanced up from his place on the sofa and opened his arm to her as she went straight over and curled herself into his side.

"Everything alright?" he mumbled into her hair.

She hummed in response. He must have heard them speaking out on the porch, but she offered no more details than that.

Carol felt him pull back slightly and she peeked up at his face, finding his blue eyes looking intently at her. She placed a hand lightly on his cheek and kissed him softly on the mouth.

"It'll be alright," she muttered, burrowing herself into the crook of his neck once more and turning her attention superficially to the television in front of them. "We'll be alright."

But something just wasn't settling right with him. He'd fought himself from going out to the porch when he'd heard them talking, and now her tone paired with the distant look in her eye did nothing to soothe his dismay about the whole situation.

"Wanna go to bed?" he whispered.

"Yeah."

So Daryl shut off the TV and stood before taking her hand and pulling her gently to stand with him. And then he weaved a hand softly into her hair and kissed her chastely before guiding her to the bathroom with a strong hand placed soothingly at the small of her back.

They brushed their teeth in companionable silence, watching one another through the mirror with eyes that spoke of fear and weariness and hopeful disappointment.

They dressed in their nightclothes, standing on either side of their bed, her eyes flitting involuntarily to his chest as he stripped down to his underwear, and he carelessly watched her worn light blue slip fall delicately over her body.

They crawled into bed, meeting in the middle, and his arm came around her as she fitted herself into his side. Tangling their legs together as she wrapped her arm around his belly, and he brought the covers up and over them.

Like a cocoon.

A little shell that was just for them, keeping them together and away from the harshness of their new reality. Both terrified of what their new roommate had the potential to do to them, separately and together. Both troubled of their inability to fight back their old selves.

Daryl brought his free arm up behind his head and listened to Carol's steadying breath as she was lulled slowly to sleep, tucked into him. His mind was running away from him, and he scrambled to find answers to problems he didn't even know existed yet.

This could be good. Or it could be really, really bad.

The unknown of it all was gnawing away at him, as was his confidence in being the man Carol thought he was. The man he wanted to be for her. The man he'd become with the strength he'd found in himself.

But Carol wanted them to try. She thought it could help. And it very well might, so he would try.

He would do it for Carol, because she felt it was important, and he would do anything to make her happy.

He would do it for himself, because he knew he wasn't the type of man who could cut his only kin out of his life without a second thought.

And he'd do it for Merle, because Merle deserved a real chance at finding his own happiness. He deserved the chance to know there was another way.

_Give a man a fish. Teach a man to fish._

And so he bit back against the ill feeling gnawing on his insides, telling him something wasn't right. And he would try.

If it helped, he would try.

Lord knew Merle wasn't doing a damn thing to make anything easier on them, but Daryl fought against the onslaught of his past and all the new-old feelings it brought back. He fought through the stampede of who he was _Before Carol_ and grabbed hold of the talisman she represented.

He'd remember the days of his fingertips brushing over her palm when he'd hand over her keys, the booth at that diner on the edge of town, the _Well, maybe I wouldn't mind that so much_.

He'd remember, and he'd fight.

And they'd all be alright.


	8. Chapter 8

**We're getting the ball rolling with this chapter...and we're pretty much at the halfway point! Thank you so much for reading : )**

* * *

There was a time when things were great. A good, solid twenty six days when they really thought things with Merle could work out.

Maybe he would even live there with them indefinitely.

Maybe they really would be able to make it.

It was in the way that Merle would just get up after dinner and start drying the dishes, at first. A handful of times of silently getting up from the table when Carol had started washing their dinner dishes, grabbing a dishtowel from the clean pile in the cupboard just under and to the left of the sink, and standing next to her, drying each one.

One night he stood up quicker than she did after their evening meal. Grabbed her plate right out of her hand without even making eye contact, piling it on top of his own as though it was something he did every day, and taking Daryl's in his free hand before making his way to the sink. Carol was stunned silent for a moment or two, not really knowing what to say.

She eventually opted to not say anything at all since he clearly didn't want any fanfare, but made herself busy by cleaning up the leftovers and packing them into the fridge. Daryl promptly took a dishrag and dried the freshly washed dishes alongside his brother. All entirely in silence, not a word uttered between the three.

With all the food tucked into the fridge, Carol put away the dried dishes that Daryl had neatly stacked next to him on the counter.

Like a well-oiled machine, they'd cleaned the kitchen that night in record timing.

It was in the way he may have started to pick up after himself around the house. Carol couldn't be entirely sure if that were the case, or if maybe he had just stopped leaving a mess of himself everywhere he went.

All she knew was that the empty cups and beer bottles scattered around their little space were fewer and farther between, and that his dirty underwear had a way of making itself into the hamper more often than not.

The mess he had been leaving in the sink after shaving seemed to have disappeared entirely.

His bed was made, no matter how carelessly.

It was in the way he'd made them both breakfast on the days he happened to be around before they went off to work, or when he'd arrive home from his overnight shift while Daryl was in the shower and Carol was brewing a pot of coffee. After about a week and a half of their rooming together, Merle wouldn't fumble into his room to go to bed when he arrived home early in the morning until after the two of them had left for work.

And sometimes, even if he wasn't working at all, he'd be up when they were and did it anyway. Just because.

Merle's pancakes. Presented to them without the snarky remarks or underhanded comments. He'd whistle a tune while he flipped them in the frying pan and ate right alongside them before they each left for their jobs.

Sometimes they chatted, other times they didn't. But they were all together.

It was in the way Daryl grumbled as he climbed up the ladder one Saturday morning to clean out the gutters, only to find that they had already been cleaned out.

And it was in the way that, as they were nearing their third week with their new roommate, Merle had been scheduled for his first daytime shift.

_"Merle still at work?" Daryl asked as he popped a little roasted potato into his mouth, breathing erratically with his mouth hanging open once he realized too late that it was still much too hot._

_Carol smirked at his impatience._

_"Yeah, I think he's due home around eight," she replied, before tacking on, "Those _just_ came out of the oven."_

_"Jim said Dale was pretty happy with him workin' there. Guess he's doin' a good job."_

_Carol smiled as she tossed the salad in the bowl in front of her._

_"That's good, right? I mean, maybe these daytime shifts will start to be a regular thing?"_

_He knew what she was saying._ Maybe he really is turning his life around. Maybe it really is helping.

_"Yeah, it's good," he replied, leaning an elbow on the counter next to her, his body just barely touching hers. She smiled wide, stifling a snicker and glancing up at him when she felt his eyes on her._

_He nudged her foot playfully with his, his beautiful smile tugging at his beautiful lips, and she couldn't hold it in, giggling delicately and nudging him back with her elbow._

_It had been a while since they'd flirted in this carefree way that had always come naturally to them, before._

_"Want a beer?" he asked, his smiling eyes flitting to her smiling mouth._

_Carol pursed her lips in mock contemplation. "Yeah," she nodded, still beaming at him. "I'll have a beer."_

_He kissed her then, pressing his lips firmly to hers and pulling away with a loud _smack_, and she muttered her thanks as he made his way to the fridge. She brought the salad to the dinner table, already set for their quiet supper alone together._

_She'd fixed Merle a plate for him to heat up when he got home and placed it in the fridge, writing him a note on the counter so he'd know it was there._

But they never did hear Merle come home that night.

And day twenty seven was the day that everything began to change. The first day of many where the pancakes weren't much of a priority anymore.

* * *

Carol was fixing breakfast for herself, Daryl, and Merle that Sunday morning. Merle's bedroom door was closed, meaning he _had_ come home the previous night, though it was clearly well after Daryl and Carol had gone to sleep.

His plate of supper from the night before was still in the fridge where Carol had left it. The note remained untouched on the countertop.

Daryl leaned up against the counter opposite the stove as she worked, sipping his steaming cup of coffee and making idle chit chat as he drank in the sight of her freely. The lace trim of her nightgown peeked out just enough from underneath the hem of her housecoat, and he'd decided he didn't want to hold back as her slender neck called out to his lips, her curls pinned up loosely atop her head.

Placing his coffee mug down on the counter next to him, he slid up behind her with his hands at her waist, the length of his front pressing against her back as he let his splayed hands slide across her ribcage and hold her tightly.

She giggled when she felt his lips and the very tip of his tongue grazing over the smooth skin of her neck and tilted her head to the side to grant him better access. She absently turned off the stove and slid the last slice of French toast from the pan onto the plate she'd had ready next to her.

The muffled sound of movement coming from Merle's bedroom had Daryl growling playfully into her skin, placing soft kisses along the side of her throat and the back of her neck in anticipation of having to reluctantly pull himself away from her when Merle finally came out of hibernation. They never did that shit in front of him because Daryl didn't want him seeing Carol like that. Merle's brain would connect Carol to sex without any help at all, and he certainly didn't want to be the one to give his brother any ideas.

As Merle's bedroom door whipped open and the sounds of the quiet laughter – the very _feminine_ laughter – made its way to the kitchen, Daryl and Carol snapped their attention promptly to the sound.

The woman – the _girl_ – froze at the sight of them, clearly surprised at their presence. And Daryl's hands tightened on Carol's waist as the pieces fit together.

"Oh," the girl began, her fingertips flying to her mouth.

But Daryl said nothing, and neither did Carol. All they could do was stare.

She was dressed in a fitted creamy white t-shirt with blue stars peppered over it, and close-fitting jeans covered her slender body. She had flowing, long blonde hair. She was pretty.

She was _young_.

"Hi there," she continued, glancing back into the bedroom as though looking to Merle for a little help, though he never appeared. So she took a few steps towards them, smiling nervously. "Good morning. I'm…um…Amy."

It registered with Carol after a brief moment that was far too long to be socially acceptable, that Daryl hadn't spoken, and hadn't moved an inch from his spot behind her.

"Hello," was all Carol could muster, her tone clipped as she forced what she thought might have been a smile. She was vaguely aware that she should probably have introduced herself, or Daryl, but she didn't. Couldn't. Only kept glancing behind the girl – _Amy_ – to the half-open doorway to the bedroom she'd just come from. But she couldn't see Merle, and it seemed he wouldn't be making an appearance anytime soon.

"I…guess I should…be going." It came out like a question.

And Carol's instinct to invite this girl to eat breakfast with them and be as hospitable as she'd been when she'd first met Merle was very quickly slapped around by the feeling of Daryl's hands tightening on her waist.

_Not the time, Carol._

So Amy made her way to the door as the two sets of eyes followed her. They turned their bodies rigidly to watch her pick up her purse from the couch on her way to the door. And they remained frozen and wide-eyed as she hastily snatched up the bra that they hadn't even noticed had been perched atop the coffee table.

Amy turned and waved at them awkwardly once more before muttering a floundering "_Have a nice day_" and leaving their home, shutting the door gently behind her.

Daryl stood frozen, his unrelenting gaze plastered on the front door. Carol glanced at him a time or two, unsure of what to say.

Because Daryl had told Merle he wasn't allowed having women at the house. And although that was definitely more of a girl than a woman, she could see the steam practically shooting out of his ears.

Daryl knew it was the first of many rules Merle would break.

So Carol did the only thing she could do just then. She set to fixing the table for the three of them to eat whenever Merle saw it fit to show up. She hoped that maybe he would stay in his room all day. Maybe he would just not come out at all, and then take his things and leave in the middle of the night so they'd never have to see him again.

Or, she'd even hoped that he would come out of his room to eat with them. Maybe he'd apologize for his slip-up with this _Amy_ girl and swear that it would never happen again.

Because Carol felt a dread settle over them as the two of them sat down to eat. She forced her breakfast down her throat as she tried pushing away all the unease, but the look on Daryl's face was tearing her up inside.

And they had no such luck of escaping any kind of awkwardness. Not five minutes after they'd started eating, Merle finally came out of his room. Walked straight to the empty seat at the table, eyeing them both with a gleam in his eye – _daring_ them to say something about the girl who'd just left – sat down heavily, and began to eat.

* * *

Daryl and Merle hadn't fought that day. Instead, they didn't speak to one another at all.

It was Carol who'd gone head to head with Merle while Daryl fumed on the couch, far too keyed up to trust himself to hold back.

She'd said everything she thought Daryl would want to say since he seemed too angry to do it himself, and she wouldn't have Merle disrespect Daryl in his own house. She'd found her footing, and she'd gone for it.

It was mid-afternoon when the tension finally broke her.

She stood at the kitchen counter, poured herself a glass of water, and downed it rapidly before slamming the glass down and opening her mouth.

"How old is she?" she asked bluntly.

Merle looked up at her from his seat at the opposite end of the couch from Daryl as they pretended to watch television, surprised at the sudden break in the day-long silent treatment they'd been giving him.

They both knew Merle had been testing them. Acted like there was not a thing wrong and hung around the two of them all damn day. But he knew what he'd done, and he knew Daryl would be angry with him. What amused him the most was that Carol was furious with him, too. He saw how much it bothered her that Daryl was uptight.

And for whatever reason, that just tickled him pink.

He stood up and made his way over to her, standing on the opposite side of the counter and leaning in menacingly as he glared her way.

Daryl sat rigidly on the sofa, holding himself back with everything he had, but had become suddenly tense as he watched it all happen. He'd avoid the fight if he could, but if his brother laid a hand on Carol, all bets were off.

"The _fuck_ do you care?" Merle spat.

"She's a girl. She's just a _girl_," she sneered, her tone disbelieving that he could be so disgusting.

"She's twenty-two. Lay the fuck off."

"You're _thirty-seven_," she argued. "Merle, come _on_."

"_Hey!_" he barked loudly, and Carol flinched back in surprise. Daryl looked on, unblinking, tensing further. "I didn't force her to do _nothin'_ she ain't wanted to do, so don't go fuckin' _judgin'_ me like I'm some fuckin' _pervert_."

"Daryl said _no women_, Merle. On your first night here. He _told_ you." She could feel herself getting hot with anger as she raised her voice.

"Oh, _fuck_," he said loudly before she'd even finished speaking, and his next words came through a thick, humourless laugh. "'_Daryl_ said', did he? You people want me to just be fuckin' _celibate_?"

"Just don't bring them here, Merle. That's all he asked."

And then Merle flew right off the handle as he screamed at the two of them that they couldn't tell him what to do. Couldn't make him a prisoner in his own home.

Carol kept on, reminding him that this wasn't his home anymore and that he was more than welcome to leave whenever he wanted.

_Daryl said this_, and _Daryl said that_. It drove him fucking crazy.

He'd gotten right in Daryl's face then, leaning over him while he sat on the couch, shouting that Daryl wasn't the only one allowed to get laid here. And Daryl remained stoic, using every ounce of energy and focus that he had to block Merle out. But his fists were clenched and his jaw was tensed, and all Daryl wanted – more than _anything_ – was to beat his older brother into the ground.

Merle stopped yelling suddenly but stayed towering over Daryl, staring him down as a dry, ruthless, menacing smile spread slowly over his face.

Carol stood in her place by the kitchen counter, tensing suddenly at the abrupt end in shouting. It felt like the eye of the storm, and her stomach turned at the anticipation.

Merle straightened slowly and sauntered back towards Carol, leaning on the counter adjacent to her. Close. Too close. She sneered in distaste when he ran his tongue along his teeth and lowered his eyes to the vee of her fitted black t-shirt.

"Maybe Daryl's right. Maybe I _shouldn't_ be bringin' strange women into this here trailer. After all, there's a perfectly good one already livin' right under this roof. Ain't like I never though of gettin' you-"

He hadn't had the chance to finish uttering the words before Daryl stood and barrelled towards them. And in that fleeting instant, Carol's eyes widened as she predicted his reaction, and she moved quickly around Merle to place herself between the two men.

Daryl stopped short when she placed both of her hands on his chest, her back to Merle. Her wide eyes pleading with him not to do it, her chest heaving with her anxiety.

_Don't start_, they implored. _You're better than he is._

And he glared down at her, wanting her to just _move out of his way_ but unable to look away from her anxious blue eyes.

He hated that look on her face – _so afraid_ – and the rest of it all faded away as he reigned it in.

The anger on his face stayed right where it was, even as he looked down at her soft features, felt the delicate touch of her hands on his chest as he warred with himself; his hatred for Merle versus his love for Carol. He looked past Carol to his brother, his scowl deepening and his breath quickening, and Merle just grinned that wry, malicious grin.

They glared at one another for too many moments, Merle taunting and Daryl receding. Carol turned her body to face Merle then, backing herself into Daryl so that she was flush against him. Daryl's hand moved immediately to her wrist while his other touched her waist, anchoring her – tethering her – to him as they both waited for Merle's next move.

Carol watched as Merle's icy blue eyes shifted from Daryl to Carol. She wanted to scream.

_Why do you keep doing this to him? Why can't you just leave him be?_

And then he finally broke, moving past the couple towards the front door, glancing back at them with one last condescending eye roll and slamming the door behind him, leaving them both standing in stunned silence.

* * *

**Disclaimer!** sweettooth is not judging anyone who has or has had a partner of a significant age difference, older or younger. I simply based this reaction/plot point on who the characters are _in this story_. Thank you!


	9. Chapter 9

**This chapter is 100% Caryl, and the only warning I have is for sexual content - not so bad, right? ; )**

**I received an awesome review over on NineLives from Erika_Sakura: "****_She's his soul_****." And that is precisely how I would summarize this chapter. I hope you enjoy it, thank you AGAIN for all reading : )**

* * *

Daryl was half-done stripping out of his clothes, more than ready to crawl into bed and be done with the whole goddamn day, but only got as far as removing his shirt before collapsing on the edge of the bed and letting his fingers grind away at his temples rigorously.

He hadn't heard Carol make her way back into their room and shut the door softly. Hadn't realized she'd changed out of her clothes and into her time-worn nightgown.

Daryl loved that nightgown. He loved the light blue colour that had faded to something almost white. He loved the lacy trim at her bust and around the hem that used to be white but had now turned into a dingier version of it. He loved that it was almost see-through when the light hit it just right. He loved that she seemed to be wearing it until there was nothing left of it before she'd even think of buying a new one. He loved the way it felt as it rubbed over his body between the sheets. He loved the way it looked on her, and the way she felt in it underneath his hands.

Carol crept up behind him on the bed, her legs straddling either side of his hips as she kneeled behind him and touched her hands lightly to his shoulder blades, gliding them outwards and wrapping her arms around his broad frame. Pressing herself to his bare back, up against his thick scars. The ones he'd been self-conscious about at first but now let her touch and kiss.

She rested her cheek against his shoulder blade as she hugged him a little bit tighter. Her fingertips grazed over the skin of his chest, lightly tickling the hair that sparsely covered him there. He exhaled softly with her touch, deflating just barely.

"Things were good, right?" he asked her, his voice taking on a hint of desperate sadness.

Carol dragged her lips lightly along the skin across his shoulders at the spot just before it rounding into his arm, kissing him softly before answering.

"_Yes_," she stressed in a whisper. "Things were good."

"I should have known," he mumbled, his voice taking on a distinct air of disappointment. "I _did_ know. How could I ever think-"

"Stop, Daryl." Her lips were at his ear, her voice the barest brush of a whisper. "Stop."

One thing about Daryl that made her ache inside was the way he guarded every failure as his own personal responsibility. He carried the world on his shoulders and felt everything deeply. It was also one of the things she loved most about him.

She kissed his skin once again before nuzzling her cheek back into her spot on his shoulder blade.

"We tried," she reminded him. "That was the plan. Remember?"

"Yeah."

It was all he could say, but she couldn't see the way his brow was furrowed deeply as he fought back his disappointment, or the way his gaze was intently focused on his fingers as he twisted them roughly together in his lap, trying desperately to keep his tears away.

He hated the way Merle made him feel like a little boy.

"Maybe he just had a slip up. Maybe…" Her voice trailed off as she tried hard to make it better for him. "Maybe he just needed to get it out of his system. It's been real good. _Too_ good. He had to have a slip up, right?"

But Daryl knew his brother, and he knew this wasn't a slip up.

_It's just the beginning_.

Daryl shrugged so minutely that Carol had barely felt the slight nudge to her cheek.

She could feel how tense he was. She could feel every part of him fighting to hold it together. And so she squeezed her arms around him just a little bit tighter.

She kissed his shoulder once. And again. And then another time before skimming her hands softly over the warm skin of his chest on their way to his biceps. She rested her chin on his shoulder and ran her hands down his arms then, smoothed them over his forearms and linked them with his own, effectively putting an end to his relentless fidgeting.

"It still might be okay," she whispered.

Her hold on his hands tightened, and he squeezed his eyes shut as his own hold clenched in return. His rigid nod did nothing to reassure her that he believed what she was telling him.

She kissed the base of his neck where it met his shoulder and planted a few more along the column until she reached his earlobe.

"I'm here." She decided to try another way. "I'm _here_, Daryl. And I'll _always_ be here as long as you'll have me." The feeling of her warm breath on his ear chipped away at his dismay. His tension began to seep away, little by little. "We can do this. We're here."

His eyes were still squeezed shut, his brow tense and tight. And he let her reassure him even more with her whispers echoing in his ears and her warm mouth on his skin.

And then she said the two words that broke him down to nothing. Melted him down to a puddle and put his entire life into perspective. Because she was entirely right. They were here, and they could do this.

And it really wasn't about anything other than the two of them anyway.

"_I'm yours_."

She felt his heavy exhale as she uttered the truest words she'd ever said, and then she moved from her place, crawling off the bed and situating herself to stand in front of him and in between his legs. She placed a hand on his cheek, and when he leaned into her touch, she took hold of his face with both hands and brought it close to hers before kissing him firmly on the mouth, gently letting her tongue glide along his lips. He opened his mouth to her and allowed her to deepen their kiss, letting his body relax, limb by limb, his hands listless in his lap.

She took one of his hands gently as her tongue danced with his, bringing it up and he felt his hand brush over the fabric of her nightgown, pushing it onto her breast. He caught on quickly, and squeezed gently on his own accord.

She wanted to make him feel good. Wanted to make him forget for just a little while that there were some things that just wouldn't go away, but also that there were some things – _people_ – that valued and treasured him more than life itself.

So he touched her. He touched her, and he let her touch _him_ and let himself feel all the _good_ that she made him feel.

When his fingers snaked their way down her body and back up and under her nightgown, grazing over the damp heat of her panties, he felt her flash a ghost of a smile against his mouth before she brushed his hand away.

This was all about him.

She swiftly pushed her panties down her legs and stepped out of them, her mouth never leaving his. He let her push him back onto the bed as he reclined against the headboard, and he lifted his hips as she pulled his pants and boxers off, tossing them carelessly onto the bed next to them before bringing her mouth around him and taking him in deep.

She licked and sucked at his head, and he groaned loudly as his hands came up automatically to grab hold of her hair. She used her hands, too, in just the way he liked, and released him at one point to take a breath as her hand pumped firmly along his length.

She felt his hips buckle towards her as she wrapped her lips around him once more, slowing down just a bit. She didn't want to rush it. She wanted him to enjoy every last second. She wanted to make him feel incredible.

"_Carol_-"

She let him go with a _pop_ at his warning and moved herself to straddle his hips, his firmness resting lightly against her front at the apex of her thighs. He watched with parted lips as she brought a finger to her mouth and sucked on it briefly before using it to ready herself down below.

His teeth sunk into his bottom lip, and his head fell back when she sunk herself slowly onto him. Daryl grabbed onto her hips – that spot he loved where hip met thigh – gripping firmly enough to control the speed at which she took him in.

She stilled when she had sheathed him completely, but the tiny movements she inadvertently made as she reached down to grab the hem of her nightgown and pull it over her head had him clenching his jaw as he watched her.

And then she placed her hands on his thighs behind her to hold herself up. His gaze flew instantly to her breasts that were on full display to him now, and she began to move slowly and purposefully. He brought a hand to a soft mound, keeping the other on her hip for leverage as he thrust upwards to meet her halfway.

Her hips rocked back and forth over his, the sounds of their laboured breathing filling the room, and she moved her hands to lean forward and brace herself on his shoulders, dropping her head to the crook of his neck before nipping and sucking at the smooth skin there.

Moving up and down, she revelled in the feeling of his big, rough hands sliding to her backside, caressing the soft flesh there gently with the lightest of touches, moving his hands in slow, circular motions.

Sometimes they didn't need to talk. Sometimes all they needed was a glance or a touch.

Tonight there was nothing more to say, tonight they only needed this. He knew she'd never be able to say in words what she was trying to tell him with her body, but he understood completely.

She was here. She'd always be here. He had her.

It wasn't about the sex, not really. It was about the vulnerability and the trusting and the giving. It was about feeling nothing but comfort and relief and warmth when she had pressed herself up against the scars littering his back. It was about the intimacy, and the fact that they'd never had _this_ until they'd had it with each other.

And right now she was making him feel good. Using her body to show him how much she cherished him. And in return he was making _her_ feel good. She reminded him as he watched her throw her head back in pleasure that he had a place in this world.

He _loved_, and was loved in return.

He was worth something – _meant_ something – and had someone that he valued more than anything he ever had.

And before Merle came back into his life like a tornado, it had made sense. Carol made sense; _perfect sense_. He refused to let Merle rip her away from him. He refused to let Merle come into his house and fuck him up so bad that he'd ruin what he'd built with _his Carol._

_No_.

He would fight back hard.

She bit down on the soft skin of his neck as he began to move faster and harder, and she felt his hands glide up her back and hook onto her shoulders. Her head flew back and she cried out loud, grabbing onto his hair and clutching his head to her chest when he pulled her down and slammed himself into her hard.

His grunts and moans spurred her onto her own release, and she called his name as she held him tightly. He kissed the damp skin at her collarbone as she rode out her release, nearing his own quickly with every laboured breath she took, every tremble of her delicate form on top of his.

And when he came, it was violent and powerful, and she felt the warmth spreading inside of her. She loved the sounds he made when he was entirely uninhibited, the grunts and groans that he couldn't seem to control, and the way his body shuddered, and he just couldn't help himself.

He wrapped his arms around her as she curled herself into him, placing featherlight kisses at the base of his throat, just beside his Adams apple. He ran his fingers along her back as their heavy breaths slowed back to normal, and sloppily reached to throw the cover over them as he softened inside of her.

The kiss she pressed to his jaw was just a bit firmer than the ones she had peppered to his throat before she brought her face close to his. The look in his eyes was enough to bring her to tears, but she swallowed it back heavily.

She watched the way his gaze travelled over her face, paying close attention to every single part he laid eyes on. When his sights seemed to linger on her mouth, she brought her hands up to smooth the hair off his forehead, holding it away from his face as she took hold of either side.

"I love you, Daryl," she told him bluntly, her low voice creeping slowly into every pore of his body. No magic, no fluff. All of the lust and the cloud of heavy emotion had dissipated. It was just fact.

He paused, looking at her for a moment with a slight narrowing of his eyes.

"Still ain't sure why," he muttered.

Her brow furrowed in concern at his words, and she pursed her lips before she opened them to speak, but he beat her to it.

"I'm just…I dunno, I ain't sure what this whole thing is."

That certainly didn't help, not at all. And when he saw her face blanch at his words for a moment, wondering what he was saying while his dick was still inside her, his hands nudged gently at her hips. She took the hint, nervously grabbing for his discarded underwear next to them on the bed and used them to hastily deal with their mess, and he turned his torso to the nightstand as she climbed off him. She fumbled to cover herself with the sheet as her heart pounded heavily.

He'd never spoken like this before, he'd never '_not been sure'_. She had no idea what he could possibly not be sure of.

When Daryl turned back to lean against the headboard once more, he held a fisted hand in his lap as the other ran through his hair. He exhaled nervously while Carol stared unblinking at his face before he finally began speaking.

"I know I love you," he began, his typically lumbering voice soft. "And I know you love me, even though I don't really get it all the time. Ain't never been treated this good. It's all new, but," he paused, his eyes on the hand that sat in his lap, still curled into a fist. "I know I like it. Ain't never felt so good. Ain't never been so glad to see anyone else feel good."

And Carol was beyond confused. She knew he spoke the truth. The raw truth of someone who was foreign to anything other than the tough 'love' he'd grown up with.

"I want you to be happy." He looked at her then, and she was thrown by the sincerity in his eyes. His unwavering stare told her this was hard for him to say.

"I am happy," she reassured him, but with very little inflection at all. Simple words, that's what he needed right now.

"Everything's all fucked up with Merle here."

She shook her head before he'd finished speaking. "No, we're still fine. Just like we've always been."

And when she reached for his fisted hand in an attempt to hold it and loosen him up, he only tensed it further. She drew back slightly, trying to conceal the concern etched on her face.

"I just…I don't wanna fuck this up."

"You won't."

"You don't know that."

"I do. _I do_. You don't see yourself like I do."

He closed his eyes for a moment, steeling himself for his next words. He prefaced them with one small, minute gesture. But one that could very well be about to change his life.

He opened his fist, an action so slight that she didn't even notice at first. It wasn't until he glanced down at his open hand that she looked down as well, doing a double take when she saw the tiny object sitting delicately in his calloused palm.

Her breath caught.

"_What_-" she began, but he cut her off abruptly.

"Can I…I mean, do you…" he fumbled over his words, not knowing the right way to say it. "I wanna marry you. And I never thought about marryin' anyone in my whole life, but I know I just want you forever." He shrugged as though it was the simplest fact in the world.

_I wanna keep you forever._

And somehow this was the way for him. Like an insurance policy. The idea comforted him, in an odd sort of way. Like if they were married, it would be harder for them to ever be apart.

But she just sucked in a breath, staring down at the beautiful oval-shaped moonstone perched atop the delicate gold band, unable to move.

She'd been married before. She'd been the wife of a man who was _perfect_ right up until they got married.

She hadn't realized Daryl had shifted to it forward, crossing his legs and leaning towards her with the bed sheet pooling at his waist. "I ain't like him," he whispered. "I'd die before I ever laid a hand on you. I would _die_."

She looked up at him with tears clouding her eyes, shaking her head. He thought she was hesitating because of Ed. He thought she was scared of marriage – of what marriage might make of him. He didn't know that that thought had fled her mind as quickly as it had come up in the first place. He didn't know she was simply stunned silent.

This was a reality she had discarded for herself long ago.

But Daryl had expected this from her when he decided to buy the ring. He hadn't a clue what she'd decide on in the end, but he would stay with her – unmarried – if that's what she'd prefer, he'd already resolved.

He was calm. Patient. Understanding. Solid.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, not trusting her voice much more than that.

"We don't gotta get married," he reassured her. "We don't. We can keep on just like this if you want. But I ain't leaving you."

Her eyes bore into his, and she nodded absently at his declaration. _Whatever she wanted_.

_I've never been with a man who's asked me what I wanted_.

"Carol," he pressed softly. "I need you to tell me that you know I ain't like him. I gotta know it."

Her eyes widened slightly, taken aback by the insecurity she heard in his voice.

"I know it," she murmured, taking his face in her hands and drawing him close. "I know it. Daryl, I _promise_. Where did you get it?" she asked, looking down at the ring and supporting his open hand with hers, her thumb running along the edge of the band.

He watched her face as he told her, "Found it at some antique shop. Saw it in the window, thought of you."

"It's beautiful," she breathed, unable to take her eyes off of it.

But still, he couldn't take his eyes off of _her_ as he bluntly told her, "I wanted you to have it."

"I love it."

His quiet huff of a chuckle brought her face quickly back to his, and she realized she'd never actually answered him.

She drew him closer and kissed his lips. "I do want to marry you," she whispered against his mouth. Slowly, to be sure he heard every word.

He smiled, and she felt it in the crinkle of his nose against hers and the warmth of his quiet snicker. "Yeah? You sure?"

"I'm sure," was all she said, without a hint of humor.

His eyes met hers and lingered there a moment as he took it all in, the magnitude of what he'd just asked, and how his soul soared at her answer.

And then he looked down at the ring as her gaze followed suit, and he moved his open palm towards her, offering up the ring for her to take.

A soft smile graced her lips at his token before she held up her left hand, palm down, and he slid the ring onto her finger.

Her smile widened as she looked down at the unconventional engagement ring on her finger, and when she looked back up to his face, she could have burst at the shy smile he held. She crawled promptly into his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck.

She buried her face into the crook there and he held onto her tightly, hands splayed on her back and forearms covering as much of her as he could manage.

"Let's run away together," she mumbled.

She smiled into his skin when she felt him chuckle. "Best damn thing you ever said."


	10. Chapter 10

**We are here! This chapter is a bit of a game-changer, and it comes with a warning for slight sexual violation, which may be a trigger for some. **

**THANK YOU to each of you for reading!**

* * *

On day fifty-nine, the pancakes stopped completely.

Merle had stopped helping with the dishes. He'd even left the table most times, receding to his room or leaving the house, without even bringing his own plate to the sink. After the third time it happened, Carol had decided she should just get used to it, and her questioning looks towards Daryl had stopped too.

He'd stopped picking up his things, leaving a trail of mess wherever he went, on the floor and on the counters.

The bathroom was worst of all. Carol had taken to cleaning it almost every day to avoid the buildup of the dirt in the shower, the fingernail clippings and shaving remains in the sink, and the stains in and around the toilet. The longer she left it, the harder it would be to keep from making her sick.

His plates and cups and utensils lay filthy and scattered all over their home.

His bed was never made, and the floor was so littered with his things that she could no longer see the carpet.

On the day she'd found a pair of his dirty underwear sitting right on the coffee table, she'd cleaned it profusely, and disinfected it twice.

They'd stopped asking him to help out around the house completely, since they couldn't predict if it would set him off or not. Either way, it was a guarantee that the chore would never get done.

He'd barely spoken to them anymore and started avoiding them as best he could.

Daryl had come home after work that day as Carol was pulling the meatloaf out of the oven, slamming the front door hard behind him. He flung his boots off and they hit the wall loudly, drawing her attention his way. He ripped off his jacket and pitched it onto the couch.

Carol looked on with concern as she laid the hot baking dish on the stove top, removing her oven mitts and leaning her back to the counter as she watched him stalk heatedly towards her. She'd spoken to him around lunch time, and he had been fine.

"What happened?" she asked as her voice trembled slightly with worry, entirely unaccustomed to this mood he'd been bringing home more and more often these days.

But instead of sitting at the table or standing in front of her to talk in the laid back way he used to have – instead of going to the fridge to grab a drink or burning his mouth as he picked at the food she'd been cooking – he paced back and forth between the counter and the dining table. Like a caged animal. A bitter, uptight, sullen animal, bubbling with aggression just below the surface. Having been poked far too many times and ready to lash out.

"Merle ditched work again," he growled.

"_Again_?" she whispered fiercely. Her brow creased in disappointment as she took a few steps towards him.

This had been the second time that week alone that Daryl had come home with news from Jim that Merle hadn't shown up for work, and he knew that Dale would only take so much more of this before letting Merle go.

"_Again_," he repeated through clenched teeth, his snarl far more restrained than he'd wanted it to be at the moment.

Carol poured him a glass of water and moved to the table, pulling out a chair for him and setting the cup down at his usual spot.

He moved to sit down, and she sat in her seat next to his at the small round table, watching him as her hands fidgeted in her lap.

"I got him that fuckin' job," he muttered.

"They won't think any less of you, Daryl. They _know_ you."

He shook his head, not believing her words. He struggled to remind himself that Merle's failures weren't his own. He'd made a life for himself outside of his family name. She was right, and he needed to remember.

She paused a moment before asking softly, "Did he not go in today?"

Daryl shook his head.

"Where is he now?" she pressed.

But Daryl only shrugged, turning the cup around in circles between his hands before taking a few long gulps of the cool liquid.

As though he'd been listening in the entire time, the front door opened sharply, and Merle barged inside, glaring at the two of them in a wordless, bitter greeting. He came to stand behind the empty chair at the table – the one that had become his _place_ – as he looked down to the two of them mutely. Just standing there, watching them watching him.

Carol stood abruptly to gather their plates and utensils and brought the food to the table. They each served themselves, soundlessly passing the food around so that everyone got their share, and began eating.

Only this time the silence was biting, ironically speaking volumes to how much things had somehow shifted between them.

He looked irate. He looked hateful. But he also looked just a little bit sad.

Something was off. Something was _wrong_. And for the briefest of moments, Carol had convinced herself that this simple act of sitting at his place to eat his meal with them was his cry for help.

Just as Merle was finishing his last few bites, Carol looked on briefly before gathering the courage to speak. Her hushed voice cut through the air like a blade.

"Is everything alright, Merle?"

He froze mid-chew, and looked sharply up at Carol. His jaw began to work at his food again – slower this time – and he looked contemplative as he eyed her. His brow furrowed, and she readied herself to hear everything he had to say.

But, quickly enough to give her whiplash, the grimace returned. Merle wiped his mouth with his napkin and dropped it onto his plate, stood from the table and walked silently to his room.

Shutting the door. Shutting them out.

_One step forward, two steps back._

* * *

Saturday rolled around two days later, and Daryl had to work overtime on a rush job at the shop. Knowing it would only take a few hours of his time, he and Carol went for lunch in the next town over to a locally famous burger shack before she had to drop him off.

It was a place they rarely went to, given that it was always packed with people and a ways away from their home, but today it seemed they'd both needed the little vacation it offered them.

"You got plans today?" he asked her as they sped down the country highway.

She smirked at him from the driver's seat of his truck, under no pretence of the real reason he was asking. _Just in case Merle was home_. "Yeah, should be out most of the afternoon running some errands. Don't worry about me."

But he didn't return her amusement, because he didn't think any of this was the least bit funny. Especially not lately. Something had happened to Merle this past week, and it had shaken up their miserable existence with him. Something had shifted and it had Daryl on edge.

He leaned his elbow on the window ledge, chewing on his thumbnail as he gazed out the window when he felt her hand squeeze his thigh.

He grabbed her hand in his and brought it to his mouth, letting his own thumb drop from his lips for a moment in favor of placing a kiss to her knuckles. He brought their clasped hands back to his lap and ran his thumb over her smooth skin as he turned back to watch the passing landscape.

They made their way inside the tiny, packed space and stood in line to order their food. Daryl allowed himself a moment to let his eyes wander over the soft features of her face as she read over the menu board. He just liked to look at her sometimes. He liked the way her eyes got bluer in some light. He liked the natural pink of her lips, and the way she unknowingly puckered them when she was concentrating, even on something as simple as what to order off a fast food menu.

He brought a hand up and lightly pushed her curls behind her shoulder as he let the backs of his fingers brush at her neck. He watched as her lips curved upwards in the smallest of smiles, and her eyes blinked lazily at the touch, never taking her eyes off that menu. His own smile touched his lips in response as he ran his hand across her shoulders, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her up against him.

"What are you gonna get?" he asked quietly, watching her face as he spoke.

She tore her eyes from the menu and looked up at him. "Bacon cheeseburger. But I can't decide between the fries and onion rings. Chocolate shake – for _sure_."

"I'll get onion rings. You get fries. An' we'll split 'em."

"Deal," she smirked, her gaze drifting to his mouth.

"_Miss Carol!_" a small voice called, and she turned to see Carl Grimes barrelling towards her, crashing into her just as Daryl let her go.

"Ms. _Sinclair_," Rick Grimes corrected his son, approaching a moment later with his nine-month-old daughter in his arms and a diaper bag hanging off his shoulder.

"Sorry," Carl muttered. "Hi, Ms. Sinclair."

Carol smiled down at the boy, who still had his arms wrapped around her waist and nodded as she mouthed, _Miss Carol_, earning a grin from Carl in response.

Carol and Daryl greeted their friend with smiles, though Daryl's was a bit more subdued given his introverted nature. Daryl was no stranger to Sheriff Grimes, given all the trouble his brother had been in with the law over the years.

Daryl had never been comfortable around the lawman, assuming everyone expected him to be a complete fuck-up like Merle – just waiting for the other shoe to drop – but Rick had seen the glaring differences between the brothers time and time again. He'd seen Daryl working hard to earn a living. To take care of his brother. He'd seen the shame Daryl carried about his upbringing and the way he was so desperately trying to shake loose from it.

And he'd seen the relationship grow between he and Carol, who had always been his son's favourite 'grown-up' at school.

Sheriff Grimes knew Daryl better than Daryl himself had ever realized.

"Well, look at this little girl," Carol cooed at the little one, taking her excitedly from Rick's arms. She knelt down to Carl's level so that they could play with Judith together as the men exchanged formalities.

"Lori's visiting her sister this weekend," he informed them after Carol had inquired as to his wife's whereabouts.

"Ah," she began jokingly, "So Daddy's feeding his boy good and proper, then."

Rick chuckled as he looked down at his daughter who was completely captivated by the delicate gold cross dangling from Carol's neck.

"I love it when mom's out," Carl chimed in with a smile, making Carol giggle.

"Yeah, I bet you do," his dad responded. "Well, I can promise you we won't be eating greasy burgers for dinner, so don't get any ideas."

"Pizza?" Carl retorted, earning a laugh from them all.

They parted ways with well wishes for Lori and an exchange of _See-you-Monday_s before Daryl and Carol stepped forward to the counter to place their orders.

They enjoyed a much needed drama-free lunch as they seemed to have a silent agreement to not discuss Merle or his erratic behavior at all, instead focussing on small talk and Daryl's plans for the house when the weather got warm again.

And they'd been happy for the break they'd given themselves right up until they were about to leave, and Carol excused herself to use the ladies' room.

As she was washing her hands at the sink of the restroom, she heard the distinct sound of someone vomiting in the stall behind her and crinkled her nose, hoped it wasn't the food they'd just scarfed down like it was their last meal.

Carol dried her hands and moved to toss her paper towel in the trash when she came face-to-face with the culprit of the objectionable sounds.

She looked pale. She looked ill. She looked…

"Amy?" Carol asked, knowing the girl had recognized her too.

Amy swallowed thickly and inhaled deeply before speaking. "Hi," she breathed. "Um…"

"_Carol_," she finished, remembering that she'd never introduced herself that morning.

The smile that ghosted on Amy's face was fleeting and was replaced instantly by a wary discomfort as she seemed to be avoiding Carol's eyes.

"Are you alright?" Carol asked with a little smile, hoping to diffuse some of the heavy tension that lay between them.

"I'm, um…it's…" she paused. Eyed Carol suspiciously, and then shook her head in confusion before speaking once more. "I'm sorry. Did Merle not tell you?"

"I guess he didn't. I'm not sure what you're-"

"I'm pregnant," she blurted out quickly, taking Carol so completely off guard that she didn't realize how far her jaw had dropped and how wide her eyes had become.

"You're…_what_?"

"I'm pregnant," she repeated more firmly. "And it's Merle's."

And then she started crying. As though her assertiveness from just a moment ago was the hardest ruse she'd ever had to keep up, and it was entirely impossible to hold her own any longer. She was broken, and Carol was the only one there to keep her pieces from scattering all over the bathroom floor of the burger shack in the next town over.

She was sobbing openly now. "And I don't want this baby. I don't want _his_ baby. I'm sorry. I'm so _sorry_, but I-"

Carol grabbed the girl suddenly and crushed her to her chest in a tight embrace. "What did he say?" she whispered into the girl's hair.

"N-nothing. He…he punched through my drywall and left. And I…I just _can't do this_. I'm not ready. I'm not…I don't-"

"Shhh, calm down," Carol tried soothing her.

"This isn't me, Carol. This isn't _me_," she cried still. "I'm not this girl who sleeps with random men and gets pregnant. I had a plan. _I'm not this girl_."

It all suddenly made sense. The last couple days with Merle had been agonizing. Painful. The worst of all their time together. It was like a switch had been flipped, and Carol was now abruptly aware of the trigger.

Amy took a moment to calm herself and when her breathing returned to something resembling normal, Carol held her by the shoulders at arms' length.

"What are you…are you going to-"

"_No_," she responded firmly. "I mean, if you're talking about ending the pregnancy, I just…I can't. I can't do it."

Carol wasn't sure whether or not she was relieved.

"I've already started the adoption process. It's decided," Amy told her firmly.

Carol watched her and tears filled her eyes. Merle…a _father_. She couldn't wrap her mind around any of it. Merle would be the father to a child he'd never know. A child who would be sent away to live with some strangers. Daryl's niece or nephew.

Amy snapped her out of her reverie when she whispered shakily, "I'm just a kid. I can't be a single mother."

All Carol could do was nod her agreement. She _was_ just a kid. It was true, and Carol knew it because she'd been a kid herself when she'd thought a baby would change her husband into someone who loved her.

But Amy wasn't a stupid kid. She knew Merle wouldn't have been any kind of daddy. She knew she wasn't ready to do it all on her own. And she was doing the right thing.

* * *

"Damn, I just saw that _girl_. Did you see her?" Daryl asked as Carol robotically made her way back to their table so they could leave. "That girl Merle brought home. Don't think she saw me, but-"

As he spoke, he'd risen from his seat and held out her coat to slip onto her shoulders and had been in the middle of slipping on his own.

"She's pregnant," Carol blurted out. The shock was still evident on her face as she interrupted his rambling. The hurt and horror and confusion in plain sight, settling themselves there for everyone to see. Nothing made sense.

_This is wrong._

Daryl's face fell, and he went completely silent.

Carol brought her eyes to his, wide and disbelieving. "She's pregnant with Merle's baby."

* * *

When Carol arrived home that afternoon with her arms full of groceries and her mind still reeling, she was taken aback by the strange car sitting in her driveway.

She parked on the road and grabbed her bags, all the while watching her front door open. A man stepping out. Shaking hands with Merle briefly and turning quickly to make his way down her porch steps.

They crossed paths as she walked up the driveway, her gaze suspicious and her skin crawling at the way he eyed her from the ground up. That disingenuous smirk on his face.

He was young, she'd guess somewhere in his early or mid-twenties, and when he smiled at her as he passed she could see the gap between his teeth. She couldn't manage a smile in return, only wondering what he was doing there and why he'd have any business with Merle, who she'd thought should have been at work by now.

Without a word, he got into his car and drove away as she watched from the front porch.

She ignored the odd feeling in the pit of her belly and made her way inside. Merle was in the kitchen, going through the cabinets and looking for a snack when she entered.

"Hey there, Mousy," he called nonchalantly, grabbing a half-eaten bag of pretzels. He stalked to the fridge to get a beer, using a bottle opener to remove the cap and flinging both objects carelessly onto the counter.

_You're going to be a father._

"Who was that?" she asked quietly in an attempt to make her voice sound light as she set the grocery bags on the dining table.

"Who?" Merle barked, but paused for just a moment at her question before making his way to the couch and grabbing the remote. Calculating. Buying himself time with his ridiculous question. He knew who she meant.

"The guy that just left. The young man? Never seen him before," she commented casually.

"Oh, _him_," he began, and that sly smirk spread over his face as he turned on the television, all but ignoring Carol. "That was, uh, _Pete_. My buddy, Pete."

"Seems kinda young to be any kind of buddy of yours. Where'd you meet him?"

Maybe they worked together, she had no way of knowing. But given how recently he'd gotten out of prison, combined with his less-than-charming personality, she didn't imagine he'd been prone to making new friends.

He turned to her then. His face was completely devoid of emotion or interest. "At the library."

_You're going to be a father._

When Merle got into these moods – being an asshole on purpose just to make a game out of his life – she wanted to crawl out of her skin and melt into the ground. Any excuse to not be near him.

_Why aren't you at work? I know you're supposed to be at work today._

Carol paused, eyeing him with disappointed skepticism. She knew he was lying. But she also knew she wouldn't be getting anything else out of him. She immediately turned on her heel and went straight to her bedroom, closing the door firmly and already obsessing over whether or not to tell Daryl about this Pete character who'd been in their home today.

Because Daryl would kill him, or something close to it. That she knew for sure.

And she wondered how many times 'Pete' had been there. How many times Merle had had _anyone_ over while she and Daryl were out. All of a sudden it had occurred to her that Merle could have been living an entirely different life when they weren't around. A secret life that she wished she'd never need to know about.

Maybe the pancakes had been a hoax this whole time. Maybe he'd been pretending all along.

She'd never know for sure one way or the other, but she did know that Merle was done pretending, if that's what he'd been doing. He was done with it all, and the anticipation of what might come next was suffocating.

_You're going to be a father._

* * *

Carol woke in the middle of the night and made her way quickly and quietly to the bathroom to relieve herself. She left the light off so as not to strain her eyes with the brightness, using only the din of the tiny night light plugged into the outlet by the sink, still half asleep and not wanting to wake herself up more than was absolutely necessary.

It wasn't until she was finished, opening the bathroom door and shutting off the light, drowsily excited to get back into her warm bed, that she noticed the flickering light of the television from the other room. She was suddenly aware of the cool night air flowing freely over her bare skin as she made a slight detour and padded swiftly towards the television, rubbing the heel of her hand against her eye to rid herself of the fuzziness brought on by her exhaustion. The thin and faded baby blue slip she wore did nothing to shield away the chill of the night, but since Daryl ran hot in the nest of their bed, it was more than enough to sleep in.

Carol was mildly startled at the sight of Merle laying passed out on the sofa, and sneered deplorably at his half-open mouth and the way his arm draped heavily over his face. Carol moved herself between the sofa and the coffee table, and began to pick up the few empty beer bottles that littered the surface, and the one that had toppled onto the ground.

As she reached for the remote in the dim light, her attention was diverted. In her sleepy haze she absently wondered what it was that was laying there innocently on the coffee table and leaned over a bit, squinting to figure out what it was.

A plastic sandwich bag. With a…pill inside?

She's registered that it didn't fit, sitting there on her coffee table, even though she had no idea what it was. Something about it had just struck her as _off_.

She absently reached for it to make sense of it and what it was doing there. And just before her fingers touched the thin plastic, she felt it.

At first she'd dismissed the feeling on her leg as simply being the fabric of her pyjamas brushing along the inside of her thigh, just above her knee.

But then she realized it was too warm. Too calculated. And it was travelling upwards at a steady pace.

The feeling of his soft, warm and barely-there touch moving slowly up her leg – the tips of his fingers trailing up the inside of her thigh, past the hem of her nightgown – had her straightening swiftly and pulled her abruptly from her lethargy.

In a fraction of an instant, her heart stopped. And then it began pounding hard and fast. Her mouth went dry. Her stomach flipped a few times over inside of her.

She clutched the empty bottles tightly to her chest, using them as a shield as she turned swiftly towards him, backing away a step. Out of his reach just a _moment_ sooner than his fingers crossed the line. She tripped over the coffee table in her haste, stumbling ever so slightly as she knocked it a few inches askew, the sound of the impact echoing loudly in her ears as it bit through the silence of the night.

He looked up at her, eyes bleary but locked firmly on hers. Unapologetic, as though he couldn't tell how terrified she looked. As though he couldn't tell the way her wide eyes practically screamed her trepidation about the whole thing.

Waiting. Assessing.

He had no concept at all of how entirely inappropriate that touch was. Or maybe he did but really didn't care. He just lay there with one arm tucked behind his head and the other draped lazily across his stomach. The one that had just been touching her skin.

He kept staring, for long moments that stretched into eternity as she stood frozen in place. All while the light of the television flickered over them. The sounds of the program having dimmed to nothing as the pounding in her head took over.

She hated him then, so intensely that it took everything she had to keep herself from throwing each of the bottles at him as hard as she could, one by one. In the brief instant before she walked rapidly and resolutely to the kitchen counter to put them down with a loud clatter, she knew Daryl had been right all along. He'd been _right_, and she should never have thought that Merle could redeem himself. Daryl had told her Merle would let them down, right from the very first night.

And he was right.

She should never have given Merle the benefit of the doubt. Never have offered him an ounce of her thoughtfulness and care.

She should never have even offered him so much as a second thought.

The anxiety over the whole situation had erased the chill from the air and replaced it with a stifling heat. Suddenly she was breathing heavily and with much effort, and the very instant she shut the door to her dark bedroom, she felt the shake in her legs, the fluttering of her heart. And she was just plain _angry_ that he made her feel like she had lost control. Paralyzed her, if only for a moment, catching her off guard while her fear held her captive in her own body.

She was almost certain that she'd have been frozen entirely had he chosen to get up off that couch and take it further. Crippled by her fear of him and his erratic behaviour. In the blanket of night, she couldn't make heads or tails of him. Of what had just happened.

She hoped she was dreaming it all.

Carol crawled swiftly back into bed, back into the safety of their nest. Their shell. Their cocoon. She lifted Daryl's heavy arm and he shifted his face towards her, moaning softly as he unconsciously pulled her into him. He tucked her into his side and nuzzled her curls with his cheek, holding her close as he slept.

She pulled the covers over them and tucked them both tightly beneath them. She wrapped her arm securely around his middle, clutching at his t-shirt, and rooted herself into his chest.

She focused on steadying her breathing, not wanting to wake Daryl with her shaking body and pounding heart.

The moment she was settled back into his familiar warmth – the safe place that was made just for her – the tears came, and Carol cried silently. Her tears pooled little by little onto the t-shirt Daryl had worn to sleep.

She eased her grip on the fabric of his shirt before sliding her hand along his stomach and bringing it up to his breast bone, finding the exact spot where she could feel his heartbeat and pressing down just a little. Trying to lose herself entirely in the steady, reassuring rhythm.

And she let the hatred she felt for herself take over for just a moment, angry with herself for standing between the couch and the coffee table. For bending over just a little to pick up Merle's garbage. For caring what the hell was in that stupid baggie on the table. For wearing this little nighty to bed and for thinking it appropriate to walk around the house wearing only that in the middle of the night.

Of course he would think things.

She asked for it. Just like she always had.

Isn't that what Ed had been trying to tell her that whole time?

The memory of Merle's hand ghosting up her thigh made her feel sick, and she swallowed back the bile she felt creeping itself upwards.

So she did her best to push it far out of her mind as she cried out all the disappointment she felt. Disappointment in herself and in Merle. In the situation. In the hope she'd felt that Merle could be in their lives, and that they could all be happy.

And she cried tears of apology to the man holding her tight in their bed.

* * *

**DISCLAIMER!** The opinions regarding abortion in this chapter are simply the way I felt the characters would feel based on their own lives/experiences.

I also know that people who are younger than Amy have babies all the time and are incredible mothers (I know a couple of them myself!). This is simply what worked for Amy's character, based on the person she is in my head and the family life she has. She is not ready, plain and simple, to raise Merle Dixon's baby all by herself.


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank you very much for reading****...I hope you enjoy! oxox**

* * *

At first they were just two people who loved each other. Two people who had understood each other in a way no one else had. Understood their struggles, their fears, their emotional hurdles, and held adeep respect for one another that was more authentic and untouchable than any type of love they had ever felt before in their lives.

At first they'd enjoyed each other's company for what it was. Just being together, sitting at that diner on the edge of town and talking until they started serving breakfast again.

He told her about how he grew up terrified, day in and day out. He told her he'd been wasting his entire life living in Merle's shadow, working long, hard hours in order to save enough money to pay his brother's bail time and time again. That this time he'd just decided maybe he _wouldn't_ pay the bail. Maybe he'd finally just live his own life, if only for a little while. And he told her that he'd discovered he liked his own life just fine.

She told him that she grew up with parents who loved her and gave her everything she could have ever needed – like picnics in the summertime and homemade cinnamon buns and bacon every Christmas morning. She'd told him about how she'd lost herself completely after they died. Blamed herself for their death since it was _her_ they were driving to visit that weekend. How she met a man who took advantage of her grief and vulnerability and loneliness. She told him how she'd let that man take her life away from her, making her drop out of school. How she had worked hard to get herself back when she'd finally realized it years later, after it was much too late to save the baby she'd once carried.

They hadn't kissed until three months after they started seeing each other. Hadn't even realize they'd even been dating, really, until one early morning Daryl had walked her to her door and awkwardly told her he'd thought so much about kissing her and wasn't sure why. Told her the thought kept him up at night, sometimes, and that he always looked forward to the days she'd come for her keys.

_Sometimes I think about what it would be like to kiss you._

The words made her heart sing, because even though she liked him so much, even though she couldn't really believe that a man could be so beautiful, she'd never entertained the idea of getting closer. Never expected him to think those types of thoughts about her.

She'd leaned over and kissed him, right on the mouth, before she could talk herself out of it. Placed her hand on his cheek as they stood at her door in the pre-dawn darkness and leaned in swiftly. It was so fast that he didn't even have a chance to reciprocate.

He'd blushed, looking at her with complete and utter disbelief as she stared wide-eyed back at him, waiting for his reaction.

She hadn't expected him to grab her face then with both his hands and kiss her back hard and fast, his tongue moving eagerly in her mouth like she was the last drop of water in the middle of a desert, but she didn't complain.

He was a horrible kisser, and she loved every second of it.

He'd pulled away after a minute or two - or ten, she would never be sure how much time had passed - but only just enough to look into her eyes as their noses bumped together. He kept his hands on her face and swept his gaze over her parted lips, hooded eyes, and rosy cheeks. They were both breathing hard, each knowing exactly what they wanted to transpire next but without a clue on how to make it happen.

So he'd leaned in again and claimed her mouth with his in another hungry kiss, which she eagerly accepted.

She had thought him handsome from the very first moment she'd seen him, in an understated way. He clearly hadn't a clue about the depth of his eyes or the way the color of his hair made them stand out even more. He dressed himself simply to not be naked. Kept his hair on the shorter side so that it wouldn't get in his way as he worked. But the way he talked and moved and just _existed_ told her that he had no idea how lovely he really was.

Carol had never realize it could be more, with him. He was just someone she enjoyed being with and looking at. Someone who made her feel _good_, for whatever reason, with his kind demeanor and gentle teasing and stunning blue eyes that held so much inside them that she found it hard to look away.

And while they kissed, she rummaged through her purse for her keys, opened the door, and stumbled inside as she dragged him along with her. He kicked the door shut loudly and she pressed him clumsily right up against it, grasping with busy fingers at his cheeks, his neck, his hair. She was grateful for the dark as he pulled awkwardly on her clothes, yanking her shirt over her head before she did the same to him.

But then she'd stopped kissing him, painfully aware of her nakedness, and kept her body close enough to his that he wouldn't be able to see much if he'd even attempted to look down. For the time being, she was glad that all she could see in the darkness were his ravening eyes looking right into hers.

So she took his hand abruptly and pulled him quickly through the apartment and into her bedroom. He pawed inelegantly at the button of her jeans as they stoodin the dark at the foot of the bed, and his shaking hands kept him from making any progress. So she took over then, and he focused on ridding himself of his own pants. They climbed gracelessly onto the bed and he leaned in for another kiss, pushing her down with a gentle ineptitude and hovering over her.

He squeezed her breasts with all the finesse of a fifteen-year-old boy, eager and unaware and excited for more. He fumbled with her bra until she eventually just took it off herself, and stood brusquely to take off his underwear before kneeling beside her once again and pulling her panties off with no polish at all.

Her heart pounded furiously as he positioned himself on top of of her and she opened her legs to accommodate him. At the very moment the tip of him touched her opening and she sucked in an excited breath, he stopped.

"Wait," he muttered hastily. "We need-"

"No. I can't-"

"Right."

They'd been over this, he knew that. But in the rush of emotions and excitement and _feeling_, he'd forgotten it all. He'd forgotten everything about his life except what was happening in that moment, because everything about her skin and her warmth and her _being_ just consumed him like a tidal wave.

But he looked at her for one more brief moment, his eyes watching hers, his stuttering breaths fanning her face. "Ready?" he whispered.

She nodded and breathed the only word she could manage. "Yeah."

His eyes stayed locked on hers as he pushed inside her, and watched with awe as her mouth fell open and her eyes fluttered shut. He stayed still for an instant once he was all the way in, the two of them breathing heavily and clinging onto one another ferociously.

And then he started moving. It was rough and shaky and out of cadence, and over entirely too quickly. She didn't come, but she didn't care. Because somehow, she was utterly and wholly certain that she'd never had better sex in her entire life. He'd collapsed on top of her in a sweaty, damp heap, and she welcomed his crushing weight as he trailed sloppy kisses over her shoulder and up her neck.

The bluish light of the early morning was creeping its way in through her blinds as she ran her fingers lightly through his hair while they caught their breath, and all the while she mentally turned over all the ways she could ask him to stay.

_Don't go._

_Do you want to stay over?_

_You should stay._

_It would be fine if maybe you didn't want to leave just yet…_

But then it just happened, before she had even fully decided she would go for it. "Daryl?" she whispered.

He lifted his head immediately, looking into her eyes with trepidation, preparing himself for the blow. Preparing himself for the words he'd been pretending she'd never say. Preparing himself to get up and leave without looking like a kicked puppy.

She swallowed.

"Will you stay?"

For a moment he said nothing, and vaguely registered the slight shake in her hands as they rested on his shoulder blades. The shock of her words had him frozen completely, and he'd contemplated asking her to repeat herself because he'd started to believe he heard her wrong.

"_Uh_," he began.

"You don't have to," she said, a forced smile gracing her lips as her eyes flickered away from him.

But she'd barely gotten the words out before he said, "I want to. I will."

She couldn't hide the surprise in her eyes when she looked back at him.

"I'd like that," he finished.

This time she smiled for real, and they shifted awkwardly as she pulled up the covers. He elbowed her in the mouth as he raised his arm to wrap it around her, and they snickered uncomfortably as she finally settled into his side for the customary post-coital cuddle.

He'd only done it because that's what he thought you did after you had sex with someone you cared about. He'd seen it in movies and figured it was what normal people did, when you wanted the woman to still like you afterwards.

He'd never done it before. Not once. The most contact he'd ever had with a woman after fucking was handing her a tissue to wipe herself up, if she asked.

But in that very instant, when her head laid down on his chest and the warm length of her pressed against his side, he had felt everything he'd ever been missing in his life come crashing down around him.

The sensation was one he'd never felt and never knew he'd even been longing for. The softest of sighs escaped her lips when she settled herself in and had made him feel like some sort of iron-made superhero. Some sort of _man_ who had unlocked some brand new power he never knew he held all this time.

A whole new reason for being. A whole new level of caring and wanting and feeling.

There was no way his father or brother had ever felt like this, ever had a woman curled into their side this way. Because if they had, he was sure they would have changed everything they'd ever felt about a woman. About women at all.

But he knew that for him, it was Carol. It was all about _her_. Because he'd never even had this type of desire before her. He'd never in all his thirty-one years felt any type of real need for a woman beyond a warm place to sink his dick to break the routine of his own hand.

This one - _Carol_ \- had changed him in so many ways she would never begin to understand. He'd barely understood it himself. He'd never known – _before Carol_ – that he could ever be more than what he always was, or more than people ever thought him to be.

His body tingled in pleasure at this new kind of contact. He had to get back here – _they_ had to get back here.

All he could do was hope that she wanted to.

She sighed in overwhelming happiness at how perfectly she fit there, how good his skin felt beneath her cheek. And he stared up at the ceiling with wide eyes as his hand flitted softly on its own accord over her arm.

He wasn't sure if he was doing it right, or if he should have been doing it at all. But then the sound of her even breathing and the slight heaviness of her head on his shoulder told him it was more than right. Nothing had ever felt this good. Not _one_ thing, not ever.

And that had him nervous, had him doubting. But he couldn't fight the _good_, so he simply embraced it. He didn't know what it was, really, but he knew that he liked it, and that he couldn't give this up. If she would have him, he would be there.

* * *

Carol's mind was frenzied that morning, flashing between the blissful memories of their early days and the mess that Merle had blown into their lives. She was reeling; powerless to stop the tsunami of thoughts that were racing through her mind as she tried to keep her head straight at work that Monday morning.

She was having trouble reconciling the Daryl she knew with the one Merle had told her about.

She had only just began to understand _how_ different a man Daryl was before she'd known him. She realized it now, as she suddenly remembered the the way Merle had been surprised that Daryl had gone to work so early. Everything he'd ever said about his brother was a mystery to her.

_Never used to get outta here before noon._

That wasn't Daryl. It wasn't _her_ Daryl. And to be perfectly honest, she couldn't imagine any version of Daryl being unable to drag himself out the door to be at work before noon. He was one of the most responsible men she'd ever met. He took care of his home. He worked hard and saved his money. And though his place hadn't been the tidiest before she'd moved in with him, it was certainly clean. Clean by a bachelor's standards, but clean nonetheless.

"Carol? Sweetie?"

She broke out of her reverie as she stared blankly at the pen in her hand, looking up suddenly to see Lori and Carl Grimes standing at the sign-in desk in front of her.

"Oh, my. I'm sorry," Carol said with a laugh. "I was daydreaming there for a minute."

"Been drifting in and out of it all morning," Mrs. Greene chimed in from beside them as Carol lifted herself slightly off her seat to peer over the elevated surface and say hello to Carl.

"Get that cavity filled?" Carol asked him with a smile.

He nodded and attempted to smile, though he was having a hard time adjusting to the numbness on one side of his mouth.

Lori placed a hand atop her son's head. "Looks like I'll have to prep all the food ahead of time the next time I leave you with your father," she joked with a raised eyebrow. "You get your sweet tooth from your daddy, I think."

"I may or may not have seen them at the Shake Shack on Saturday afternoon," Carol chimed in, winking at Carl who attempted another smile.

_Saturday._

She hadn't seen Merle since that night by the coffee table, and she'd been fighting with herself ever since on whether or not to tell Daryl about it. _He'll kill him_.

"Alright, sweet boy, run along to your class now, I'll get you signed in," Lori told her son. With a quick kiss atop his head, he ran off down the hall in the direction of his classroom.

"Did I see little miss Judith in that bucket seat?" Carol asked as she rounded the elevated desktop.

She made quick work of unbuckling the straps and lifting the baby gently into her arms while Lori filled in the sign-in sheet.

"Freshly bathed last night, just for you," Lori joked as Carol took a deep sniff of the tiny head.

"_Mmmm_…just perfect," she cooed, tickling her little belly and making the girl smile.

Lori eyed her for a moment, her smile wavering only slightly and she lowered her voice before speaking again. "How's everything going?" she asked her friend knowingly.

Though the two had met through Carl's attendance at the school, they had become friendly almost instantly and made time to chat whenever they saw one another.

"Oh," Carol droned. "You know…"

"How's Merle been?" Lori had known enough about Merle from her husband. Enough to have been extremely put off when she found out that Carol had been seeing his brother. Rick's insistence that Daryl and Merle were akin to apples and monkey wrenches had set her mind at ease.

"He definitely, um…lives up to his reputation," Carol replied, though it came out like a question.

"You be careful in that house, you hear? I don't trust that man," Lori chided gently.

Carol had been nodding before she'd even finished her sentence. "Don't worry about me, Daryl does enough of that for all three of us."

_I don't trust Merle, either._

Carol couldn't help her mind from drifting constantly back to the way Daryl reacted when she'd told him about that boy. If he'd known that Merle had laid a hand on her the way that he had, if he'd known Merle had touched her there…

* * *

_When Merle wasn't home that Sunday afternoon, Carol had told Daryl about Pete, in hopes that it would lead to a conversation about the pill, and the other thing. She'd been surprised to hear Daryl tell her bitterly that he had already known of the boy, and how he told her the kid's name was actually Randall._

_That had set him off, and he flew into a fit of rage that she wasn't quite sure how to handle._

_"I'm kicking him out, Carol. I'm fuckin' _done_." He was already raising his voice at her, and she knew this argument wouldn't be ending well._

_"_Fine_, Daryl. Kick him out. And _then_ what?" she challenged._

_He stilled from his pacing for a moment, though his breath was still heavy._

_"Will he stay away, Daryl? Will he just _go_?"_

No.

_"And what about _you_?" she pressed. "Will _you_ be okay? Really and truly, Daryl. _Will you be okay?"

No.

_He began pacing once again, his hands balled into fists at his side, and it was all he could do to keep from punching through the drywall._

_He rounded on her then, approaching her quickly enough and with such malice in his features that she'd actually taken a wide-eyed step backwards._

"You should never have let him in here," _he shouted, pointing a finger accusingly in her face._

_And that was evidently her last straw. She'd blamed herself for this mess right from the moment she'd invited him inside to wait for his brother, and hearing it now coming out of Daryl's mouth with that tone had crushed her. It was all she could take. There wasn't a thing she could do anymore to keep her tears away, and before she knew it her lip was quivering and she let out a jarring sob._

"What was I supposed to do? _I didn't know who he_ was _before I told him he had the right house. How could I turn him away? He was so..."_

"Angry," _Daryl finished loudly, remembering the way Carol had described the awkward meeting. "Yeah, I fuckin'_ get _it."_

_"I'm _sorry_, Daryl," she cried. "I'm so _sorry_."_

_"Too fuckin' late for sorries now," he muttered, turning away from her to continue his agitated pacing._

_Carol's chest heaved as she worked to still her tears. She walked hastily to Daryl, who'd made his way into the living room, and placed herself directly inhis path. He stilled suddenly, but couldn't bring himself to look at her face._

_"Daryl," she whispered fiercely, placing her hands on his face in an attempt to make him look at her._

_But he fought against her hands and kept his eyes cast downward._

_Carol bit back the hurt. Swallowing thickly and ignoring her tear-soaked face, she pressed on. "Look what he's doing to us. This isn't us, Daryl._ This isn't us."

_She tried bring his face up again but still he held firm._

_"We can't let him do this to us," she said, surprising herself with the shake in her voice._

_He couldn't deal with her right then. He couldn't bring himself to look into her petrified eyes and see the hurt there. Because it wasn't her fault that any of this was happening, it was _his_. It was all his fault for being a coward his entire life and for bringing her into it. She didn't deserve to be crying over Merle Dixon right now. Over him. She didn't deserve any of it._

_So when she leaned forward and tried to press a kiss to his mouth, he jerked his head away._

_And she stood there, shell shocked as she watched him slip his boots on and skip out on tying them in favour of a quicker getaway. Watched him grab his jacket and walk out the door before he'd even slipped it on._

_So she couldn't tell him, not at that moment. He would kill Merle if he knew about it all, and he may never speak to her again. She knew then that telling him the whole of it would have done more harm than good._

_And then she realized that she'd been making a habit of lying by omission since Merle came into her life, and that realization had only served to make her angrier. He was wedging himself in between them and doing his very best to splinter everything they had along the way, whether it was intentional or not._

_She stood still in the middle of the living room and waited for Daryl to open up the door again. And after long minutes of waiting in the quiet, willing it to swing open on its hinges, she began to cry._

* * *

Judith squealed playfully and grabbed a fistful of Carol's hair in an attempt to bring it to her mouth. Lori smiled warmly at her friend and moved to run her fingers along the back of her daughter's hand when the slight sparkle caught her attention.

"Excuse _me_, Carol. What is that on your finger?"

Carol glanced down at her hand as though she hadn't a clue what Lori was talking about and shrugged. "Oh, _that_? Why, that would be my engagement ring, I suppose," she said as she feigned a thicker accent than the one she had.

"_Daryl Dixon_?" Lori asked in disbelief, unable to keep the smile from spreading across her face. Carol nodded, her glee evident in her eyes and the way her upturned lips.

Lori enveloped her friend in a hug with her daughter riding contentedly on Carol's hip between them. She pulled back just enough to look into Carol's eyes. "I hope he makes you happy," she said kindly, with the utmost sincerity in your eyes.

"He already does," Carol replied cheekily.

Carol had always loved when Lori came by the school, not having had much by way of girlfriends in the later part of her life. It was refreshing, in a way, to allow herself the luxury of giggling freely about her man. To allow herself to be excited with someone.

"Did you know about this?" Lori asked Mrs. Greene teasingly as she pulled away from Carol, leaning onto the sign-in desk and resting her chin in her hand. Carol turned her attention back to Judy, tickling the girl's legs softly with her fingertips.

"I did, indeed," Josephine replied with a grin. "And I couldn't be happier for our girl. Or Daryl, for that matter. That boy has certainly hit the jackpot."

Carol blushed at the compliment as Lori put Judith back into her carseat. The office door opened then, and the three women turned towards the familiar face.

"Dr. Greene," Lori bellowed at the beloved town veterinarian, standing up and collecting the bucket seat into the crook of her elbow.

"Mrs. Grimes," he replied, tipping his head towards her and turning to Carol next. "Ms. Sinclair."

Just as Carol opened her mouth to reply, Lori intercepted coyly. "Soon to be _Mrs. Dixon_."

Hershel Greene's face turned quickly to one of surprise as Lori slipped out the door, and he turned towards Carol and approached where she stood leaning on the desk. He lifted her left hand delicately, noticing the beautifully unique ring there, and kissed her hand softly.

"Congratulations," he crooned. She smiled and whispered her thanks as Hershel turned back toward his wife, placing a brown paper bag atop the sign-in desk. "That is one lucky man, that Daryl Dixon."

"That's exactly what I said," Josephine replied, leaning over the desk to give her husband a short peck on the mouth. Carol looked on at the sweet display, having always admired the marriage they'd shared for so many years.

"You forgot your lunch in the truck again," he muttered as he pulled away. She'd been known to "forget" her lunch a time or two, causing her husband to drop it off at the school between patients.

"Thank you, darlin'," Jo replied with a sweet smile on her face and a gentle hand to his cheek.

He turned to leave the office as Carol made her way back to her chair. "I'm not convinced she isn't forgetting her lunch on purpose," she chimed in as she sunk back down into her seat.

Hershel pointed at Carol, pushing the door open. "Smart girl, Carol. _Smart girl_."

The two women giggled like teenagers, and Carol's gaze lingered on the glass door as it slid softly shut behind him.

* * *

_The door never opened. The knob didn't turn. And she hadn't a clue how long she'd stood there, staring at their closed front door._

_She had mechanically made dinner to be ready for when Daryl might come home, but he didn't show. So she packed it away into the fridge without taking a bite since she had no appetite of her own._

_And then she sat in their bed until it got dark out. Heard Merle come home at some point. Heard the sounds of the kitchen cabinets, the water running in the bathroom sink, some ruffling around in his room. He'd been going through his night side table, she could distinguish the sound of that squeaky little drawer._

_And then he left again and she was alone._

_At ten o'clock she had begun to wonder when she could call the police to report a missing person. And then she heard the front door open._

_When she realized that the footsteps were not heavy or brash or angry – and with the absence of the tell-tale cabinets banging and fridge door slamming – she had known it was Daryl._

_Her heart hammered in her chest as the bedroom doorknob turned and she hugged her knees close to her chest._

_Daryl paused in the bedroom doorway and looked down at her, at a complete loss for words. They'd never had a fight before – never anything like _that_ – and he hadn't a clue what was supposed to come next. He imagined it would be some sort of break up, but was unsure about the nature of it. Would it be heated with drama and door-slamming? Would it be a quiet, unspoken agreement? Who would be the one to leave?_

_The defeated look on his face spoke volumes, and in the brief instant that she opened her arms to him, she had obliterated every fear he had held about returning home to face her._

_He promptly crawled onto the bed and across it until he was next to her, pulling her down until she was lying on her back. And then he curled himself into her, placing his head on her shoulder and squeezing her tightly as he finally let his tears flow. Her arms wrapped around him protectively, and he took a shuddering breath._

_"I left you," he mumbled._

_"You're back now," she whispered as she rubbed his back comfortingly._

_"I'm sorry."_

_"Me too."_

_He paused a moment to feel the relief wash over him. He sniffled loudly before daring to utter his next words, opening himself up completely to her. Feeling more vulnerable than he'd ever felt in his entire life._

_"Don't ever leave me," he whispered unsteadily._

"I won't."

_And they fell asleep that way, over the covers and with their clothes on, and stayed that way til morning._


	12. Chapter 12

**Many warnings for this one, namely drug use and excessive violence. And the fact that there is nothing good about the content of this chapter. At all.**

**Thank you so much for reading!**

* * *

The sun was bright, warming the house through the windows, even though the December air was crisp outside.

Carol came home from work early that day, too far gone with distraction that Mrs. Greene had sent her home. The guilt of not telling Daryl what had happened with Merle that Saturday night had been eating away at her. The nagging feeling of deception crept over her like a thick, black smoke, suffocating her from the inside out.

It had been five days and counting. Five days since Merle had crossed the threshold with her to something that she knew she could never come back from. She'd been unable to even look him in the eye since then, and becoming progressively more stoic as the days went on. Running through the motions of her life on fumes alone.

That morning before work, Daryl had been looking at her funny. And it was that look in his eye that had been haunting her all day long. He knew something was wrong, but instead of asking her about it, he became even more quiet than usual. He was worried, and his worry made her nervous. She would have to tell him, and thinking of how she would say it made her sick inside.

She'd already called Daryl and asked him to meet her home early that day, entirely unable to keep it to herself any longer.

_Daryl should be home any minute now._

She set the two bags holding the groceries she'd stopped to pick up on the counter and began putting things in the fridge and the cabinets. She heard a banging sound from down the hall.

Merle's room.

She furrowed her brow. He was supposed to be at work, wasn't he?

Carol glanced at the clock on the microwave. Definitely too early for either of them to be home, but there they both were.

"Merle?" she called, stilling her movements.

Nothing.

She tried once more, calling a little louder, a little more assertively, though she could already feel the shake in her hands. "_Merle!"_

Nothing.

There was the sound of something hard hitting the ground behind the closed door, and then his door opened abruptly.

He stumbled out of his room, not having seen her, it seemed, and made his way towards her – no, towards the kitchen. She wasn't entirely sure if he'd even looked at her or realized she was there.

She couldn't shake the horrific feeling in the pit of her stomach. Carol watched Merle fumbling around her, opening cabinets and drawers, closing some of them but not all, and coming away from it with empty hands.

He went to sit at the table, and she followed after him, shutting the cabinets and drawers that he'd left open and moving to sit across from him at the small dining table.

He still didn't look at her. Didn't acknowledge her presence at all. It was like she wasn't even there, the way he practically looked _through_ her.

"Merle?" she asked again, softly this time. She leaned back in her chair, tears stinging her eyes as the dread of the situation set it. Something was wrong. Horribly wrong. "Merle?" She tried one last time, barely louder than a whisper, and looked at him helplessly. She didn't know what to do, and had no idea what could possibly be wrong with him. Wouldn't let herself realize what was wrong with him.

Things had been so good for a time. _So good_.

And then, all of a sudden, they weren't. And now they were sitting there at the dining table, brought by it all to this day and this time and this place.

His eyes snapped to hers harshly, and his face went from vacant to frenzied faster than she could blink.

That's when she noticed how heavily he was sweating. The collar of his shirt was wet, and under his arms. His forehead was littered with beads of moisture.

And his thin lips were almost the same colour as his skin. His eyes were pink and glassy.

He started scratching. Fiercely. He scratched his arms, his chest, and then his hands disappeared under the table as he scratched madly at his thighs. She saw the sores on his arm – two that she counted right then – and pushed the reality down further.

"Fuck," he muttered quietly, scratching at his head.

"Fuck." Louder.

"Fuck." A little louder.

"_Fuck!_" He shouted so loud that Carol jumped in her seat, watching him with worried, wide eyes as he stood up fast and paced an unsteady circle around himself.

"Wh- What's wrong?" She asked him, her voice so small that she'd barely even heard herself.

Her heart was pounding now, and it only got louder and harder when he started laughing. Hysterical laugher. And she was terrified.

She was stunned into silence. Unable to move, unable to think, unable to come up with a single way to pick herself up off the chair she was sitting on and get the hell out of that house as fast as she could.

And then he sat down again just as quickly as he stood up, leaned forward, elbows on the table, and stared at her with hollow eyes. The smile wiped off his face and the anger was all gone.

He stayed like that for a few moments, just looking at her. And the tears in her eyes stayed stubbornly in place, not making one move to escape.

He reached down into his pocket then, and pulled something out, tossing it between them on the table. It had barely even made contact with the surface before she stood up so fast that she knocked her chair over, and backed away from the table with a few quick shuffling steps.

Her hands covered her mouth and she breathed hard and fast, her chest rising and falling heavily as she stared with disbelief at the _thing_ on the table.

It was right in front of her, in her home, on the table where she had eaten breakfast that morning with Daryl. A tiny little plastic bag filled with little blue crystals. And she couldn't look away as the sun beat down on the table - on the little bag - and made those little blue crystals sparkle majestically.

When she finally managed to look up at Merle, he sat still in that same spot, staring at her with his glazed-over eyes. Her chest just kept heaving, and she thought she would faint.

That's how Daryl found them.

Carol hadn't even registered that he'd walked into the house, didn't hear him shouting - _What the _fuck_ is goin' on in here?_ \- until she saw him through her peripheral vision as her eyes stayed entirely locked on Merle, leaning over the table and grabbing the small bag angrily before disappearing again.

That's when she broke Merle's glare. That's when she turned towards the bathroom, where Daryl had disappeared to, and realized she was crying. Because when Daryl reappeared after she heard the sound of the toilet flushing, he was blurry. All blurry.

She was pretty sure she was hyperventilating. She didn't hear what Daryl was saying, but she knew he was shouting. Her head was spinning. He disappeared again into Merle's room, coming out with a handful of things that she didn't want to look at. It was all a blur. She had no idea what was happening, but picked up a few random words Daryl had been shouting.

_Pipe. Smoke. High._

It was enough to tell her he'd had it in the house, that this was exactly why he'd been behaving so strangely. This wasn't Carol's world, and up until this moment she had been naïve to it all.

But Merle still sat there, and she vaguely registered the eerie way his lip curved up into something of a smile, staring at his hands as they rested on the table, unaffected entirely by the screams of his brother.

_Will he hurt you?_

_Never touched me unless he was on some shit._

Carol couldn't tear her eyes away from the way Merle clenched and unclenched his fists.

Daryl was by the trash can in the kitchen now, throwing something inside and yanking the bag out. Tying it tightly and furiously before he stomped angrily to the front door. He yanked the door open and tossed the bag out onto the lawn. And then the door slammed shut so hard that the house shook.

Daryl turned back towards them and she'd never seen this look on his face before. It terrified her and made her feel safer all at the same time.

"Carol, get out of here," he told her breathlessly, his eyes locked on Merle. His own chest was heaving now, and she knew exactly what would come this time.

"Daryl-" her voice was dripping with sheer terror, her head shaking frantically to tell him no - _don't do this_ \- but she couldn't find the words.

"Get the fuck out of here, Carol, _now_," he repeated, raising his voice. He didn't wait for her to move - _couldn't_ \- and he lunged at his brother. He grabbed the front of Merle's shirt by the fistfuls and yanked him out of his seat. He shoved him hard against the wall before punching him square in the face.

The sound - the sight - made Carol squeal and jump back. The sound of Merle's cheek crunching beneath Daryl's fist, the sight of his head as it was thrown back and the way his eyes were dazed from the impact.

"Daryl, don't," she sobbed.

"Get-" Slam.

"The _fuck_-" Punch.

"_Out of here!_"

By the fourth punch, Merle had snapped and started fighting back, and she couldn't take it.

She lurched towards them and her small hands grabbed at Merle's shoulders. She pulled him off Daryl as best she could, but her efforts were entirely fruitless. Merle shrugged her off with such force that she hit the wall behind her, her head smacking hard into the wall, and she heard the obscure sound of glass breaking.

And it only fueled Daryl's fire even more as he regained his footing and screamed at her again.

_"Go!"_

This time she listened, the fear suddenly too overwhelming to handle, moving as quickly as she could into their bedroom and closing the door against the noise, though she may as well have been right in between them. Merle was moving like a machine, like he wasn't even himself anymore. Like he had no idea who Daryl was, who he'd been pummelling.

She sat, leaning her back against the door, and sobbed violently into her knees. She was scared for Daryl, scared for what might be happening to him out there, but knowing she was completely powerless to stop it even if she tried.

The phone. She had to call for help. _Where is the phone?_

The door shook as the men slammed into it on the other side, causing her to leap out of her skin, her heart pounding so furiously that she felt her head throb with the rhythm.

These sounds would haunt her, she knew they would. The sounds of the blows and the grunts and the slamming. It was too much.

And then it was all over.

Her heart seemed to stop as she took a breath, holding it as she listened to the silence, the pounding in her chest picking up once again when she realized what must have happened.

Carol scrambled clumsily to her feet as quickly as she could and yanked the door open.

Her tear-soaked face took a fraction of a second to find him.

She choked back vomit at the sight of him, lying face down on the floor, halfway in the spot where the coffee table used to be. The object in question lay in pieces, scattered around the living room.

There was blood. _Everywhere_. She looked through Merle, standing over him and taking heavy breaths, as she searched for the phone.

"Carol," Merle began, but she ran right past him, grabbed the phone, and fell to her knees next to Daryl's lifeless form.

"Carol-"

"Hello? There's an emergency. My...Daryl...he's unconscious. He's...hurt...badly. Please help." Her voice was shaking. Her hands were shaking. And she smoothed Daryl's hair off his forehead, pulling it back to find her fingers red with his blood. Or Merle's blood. She had no idea.

_Why is there so much blood?_

So after she gave the dispatcher their address, she turned off the phone with her blood-stained fingers and tossed it aside.

_"Carol-"_

But she didn't hear him. Didn't even acknowledge his presence. She did what she could for Daryl as though she was alone with him, the only one there to help him. She leaned her face close to Daryl's and heard his faint breathing. Felt it on her cheek, followed by the rush of relief that came along with it. Touched him over his arms, his back, his cheeks, just to feel his living, breathing warmth.

"Daryl, you're gonna be alright," she whispered into his ear. "Help is coming, okay? You're gonna be just _fine_."

She felt the brush of a hand on her shoulder and threw her arm back, swatting it away violently.

"_Don't,_" she snapped, turning to glare at Merle hard, her eyes shooting daggers his way. "Don't you touch me," she hissed. "I was on your side," she told him. "Don't you fucking touch me."

He didn't move, didn't say a thing. He only looked at her for a second as she seethed before he said simply, "I cut him."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. Disgust. Her face fell, and she could feel herself going pale as the blood rushed from her head to the pounding of her heart.

All the blood.

"_What?_" she whispered fiercely.

She looked down at the flat piece of glass in his hand, the pointed edge covered in blood, Merle's own hand covered in red from the tight grip he held.

Her gaze turned vacant before she turned away from Merle hastily, her mind rejecting his words as she focused everything she had on Daryl. On leaning down close to him and whispering in his ear, stroking his hair gently. Comforting him in any way she could think of, though he was unconscious. She didn't have a clue when exactly Merle had dropped that piece of glass to the floor next to her, or when he'd left the house.

All she knew was that, when Sheriff Grimes and his officers arrived at the scene alongside the paramedics, Merle was already gone.


	13. Chapter 13

**I'll probably only be able to update once week until the end...there are three chapters after this one, plus an epilogue. Almost there!**

**Here we deal with the aftermath of what happened in the last chapter. Brief mention of animal abuse, as well as brief mention of destructive behaviour at the end. **

**Thank you again, and enjoy : )**

* * *

Carol sat on the porch steps, her sweater doing little to keep her warm in the rising sunlight. She couldn't get his face out of her mind. The eye that was swollen shut. The gash on his lip. The bruises coloring his cheek and jaw. He was barely recognizable.

And the cut.

She didn't realize how _much_ blood there really was until Merle had brought it to her attention.

_I cut him._

That's when she'd seen it, that's when it registered. There was so much of it. All this chaos that Merle had brought into their lives – she was drowning in it. And now Daryl was in the hospital, had gone under the knife because of a stab wound his own brother had given him, and she hadn't a clue what to do.

She'd been at the hospital since yesterday afternoon when it all went down, right on the other side of her front door. Daryl had been taken into surgery late at night, and they'd told her to go home and get some rest while he was recovering.

_He'll be out a long time, Ms. Sinclair. Use this time to get some rest. Have have a shower._

With nothing else to do and nowhere else to go, she'd come home just before the sun began to rise, but couldn't bring herself to go inside to see the aftermath of it all.

Mrs. McLeod suddenly appeared at her side, and Carol was brought back to life at the movement of the elderly woman wrapping a blanket around her shoulders and sitting down beside her. She wrapped an arm protectively around Carol and handed her a mug as she rubbed soothingly at Carol's back and arm. Carol didn't know what was in it, but she took a sip anyways and burned her tongue a little.

Tea.

"They're asking me if Daryl wants to press charges," Carol mumbled, her voice hoarse from all the crying. And then she shook her head. "I don't know what to do. They keep _asking_ me. I haven't even spoken to him. He's been-"

She stopped herself then. Not wanting to talk about his condition, not wanting to say out loud that Daryl had been unconscious for just about thirteen hours now. Because then she'd have to picture it all over again. The memory of his broken body brought bile to her throat so quickly that she wasn't sure she'd be able to keep it down.

Mrs. McLeod was silent for a moment, her hand rubbing soothing circles on Carol's back. And when she finally spoke, her voice was comforting and soft.

"Those two were only boys when they moved in here," she began. "And I can tell you neither of them has changed much."

Carol looked at her and Mrs. McLeod had to swallow back her emotion at the puffiness of Carol's eyes, the redness of her nose.

"I always wanted Daryl to find his own way, but he never could shake that brother of his. And _that's_ Daryl. Caring, compassionate, _sensitive_. He's always had a heart of gold, that boy. Ever since he was little. And _Merle_…Merle was like a tornado. I knew _exactly_ what life he was headed for, and I always worried he'd bring Daryl down. And he did, for a time. Daryl was stuck. Merle's reputation left much to be desired, and people always judged Daryl for it, ever since they were boys. But he worked hard, and he took care of Merle as best he could. Basically just made sure he didn't die, I suppose. Always using his hard-earned money to bail Merle out of jail. Always letting him come back. Time after time.

"But the _last_ time," she paused,and a slight chuckle escaped her. "Something switched in him. Merle hadn't even been locked up a week, and Daryl was out on this porch fixin' that light. Then there were other little things. Raking the lawn, mowing it. Pulling weeds. Offerin' to do the same to _my_ lawn." She turned to Carol then and quirked an eyebrow. "Did you know he painted the entire outside of this house all by himself?"

Carol shook her head but said nothing.

Rosemary paused again, looking out onto the yard as Carol did the same, and shook her head at a memory.

"They got a dog when Daryl was maybe ten years old. A big black Rottweiler named Snickers. Daryl named him, and he was just so excited. And he was so _sweet_ to that dog. Always petting him, lovin' on him. Always takin' him for walks. Givin' him treats." She smiled at the memory. "And that dog was gentle with him. So gentle. Like he was always protecting him or something.

"One day, Carol, I saw Merle kick that dog, 'round the side of the house where he thought no one could see. And not just a little nudge with his foot. That big, strong dog _yelped_. I was knitting on my porch and I heard it before I saw it. And when I looked up, Merle kicked that dog _again_."

Carol sniffled but listened intently.

"That dog, I am _telling_ you, it was smaller around Merle. Like it would just…cave in on itself or something. Like it was always just expecting another blow from that boy's boot."

She looked at Carol then, her point lost on the woman crying next to her. Mrs. McLeod wrapped her arm soothingly around Carol's shoulders and drew her in tight.

"I know you wanted to help, Carol. I know it. But that boy – that _man_ – he can't be helped. Not if he doesn't want it for himself. No one can get through to Merle but Merle."

"What happened to Snickers?" Carol asked in a strained whisper. She's never heard about this dog. Daryl had never talked about it.

And Mrs. McLeod looked down then, at the painted steps below them. "Daryl came running to me one daywhile I was tending to my garden. He told me Snickers had run away. He was thirteen at the time, crying like he was no more than three. And then Merle came out and called him back to the house, and smacked that poor boy upside the head before they disappeared inside. It just…broke my heart."

Her voice had trailed off in visible sorrow, and Carol turned away from her, focussing instead on the steam rising from her mug.

"I don't know what really happened to that dog, Carol. But I do know that it did _not_ run away."

"Poor Daryl," Carol whispered. Whether she meant it for the grown-up Daryl or the young one, it didn't really matter. He didn't deserve any of it.

"I love him so much," Carol said after a beat, her voice cracking with the last word before she dissolved into a fit of sobs.

"I know," Mrs. McLeod soothed.

Carol shook her head, as if to convey that just loving him wasn't nearly enough. Like maybe Mrs. McLeod didn't truly understand how deep her love for him ran. "It hurts me. It _hurts_ me. My head hurts, my stomach, my legs, my arms, my_ skin_. I can't…everything just _hurts_. Did you see him? Did you see his face?" she was practically hysterical, almost gasping for breath.

Mrs. McLeod shook her head. "No, darling girl, I haven't seen him."

Of course she hadn't. Carol knew that. No one but her and Rick had seen him since he'd been taken to hospital.

"You'll get through this. We all will. He'll be _fine_, honey. You just wait and see."

"Y-you…you can't know that," Carol cried.

"I can, and I _do_, sugarplum. That boy has lived a hard life. And he's fought it every step of the way. And then you came along, and he's finally gotten the good he deserves. You're the best thing that's ever happened to him. He won't let this go. He's tough as nails, and he'll fight for it."

Carol curled herself into the woman and cried into her neck like a little girl.

"What am I going to do?" she sobbed.

"Don't think about what you're gonna do, angel. Just think about how good it'll feel when he opens his eyes and sees you there. You'll figure it out together."

They sat in silence together as Carol worked to steady her breathing and took a sip of her tea.

"Go inside, get a jacket. Pack some things, and then get back to your man. That's where you want to be."

"I don't wanna go in there," Carol mumbled. "I don't want to…see it."

"Nothin' left to see," Mrs. McLeod reassured her. "Cleaning crew showed up not long after y'all were hauled away yesterday.

"Already?" Carol asked, incredulous and a little nervous. Her fear of facing the crime scene was now replaced by an apprehension for not recognizing her own home.

"I imagine your friend Sheriff Grimes pulled in a favor. I went over while they were there, made sure none of your things were tossed. They tore up the carpet though."

The carpet. Where Daryl had been bleeding out right in front of her.

"Want me to go in with you, sweetie?"

Carol shook her head. She was grateful for the offer but not wanting the company. Not for this.

"Thank you," she told her friend. "I'll only be a few minutes, and then I'm heading back."

She offered the mug back to its owner, but Mrs. McLeod shook her head and nudged her arm gently away. "Finish the tea. Keep the mug. Really." She handed Carol her spare key, knowing that all of Carol's belongings were left behind in her haste.

And Carol whispered a '_Thank you_' before making her way up the porch steps. She took a deep breath as she slowly unlocked the door and stepped inside.

The carpet was gone, and underneath lay a large spot where she knew Daryl had been. The wood was stained, and she hadn't a clue what they needed to do about it. She made a passing mental note to ask Rick about it later.

The couch was pushed into a corner of the living room to her left over the now-bare floor, the coffee table inverted on top of it. Entirely broken, with all of its pieces neatly stacked on the sofa cushions.

The rest of the house, however, was almost exactly how she'd left it. The table and chairs were in their rightful positions. The photos on the wall were straightened, though one was clearly missing.

The one that she'd knocked down after her head had slammed into it.

She vividly remembered the sound of the glass breaking now, the feel of the crunch on her skull.

The kitchen was clean, and she walked slowly in that direction when she saw something on the countertop.

The photograph that had fallen lay staring back at her. The faces of the two smiling little boys no longer protected by the glass of the frame, the photograph paper bare with the cracked frame around it. And one larger sharp piece of glass, no longer covered in anyone's blood lay over top of the boys' faces.

Carol picked up the glass, turning it over carefully in her hand for a moment, and pressed a fingertip to the sharp end, stopping just before she broke skin.

She placed the shard next to the photograph, turned towards the bedroom doors, and decided to ignore the closed one that led to Merle's room. She didn't even know if he was in there, and it didn't really matter. He was, in fact, the very last thing she cared about in that particular moment in time.

She made her way mechanically to her dresser, vaguely registering that when she'd made the bed less than twenty four hours before, her life had been entirely different.

Bag packed, she grabbed her jacket and locked up behind her as she squinted into the bright morning sky, hoping she'd make it back to Daryl before he opened his eyes and noticed she wasn't there.

* * *

Carol had sat diligently by his bedside, only moving from her spot when the nurses needed the space for his check-ups, or if she needed to go to the bathroom. She'd hold his hand sometimes or brush her fingers ever so lightly across his brow.

_I'm here, Daryl_, she would whisper now and again. _And I love you._

Rick Grimes had come by quite a few times since Daryl had been admitted. He'd come to check on Carol, bring her something eat, and ask if she'd heard anything about Daryl's condition.

"We're gonna need to know if Daryl will want to press charges against Merle. What do you think he'll decide?" Rick had asked her that first time.

"I…I don't know," she stammered. "I don't know what he'll decide. What does that even _mean_?" Her mind had stopped working, had stopped processing any information that didn't have anything to do with Daryl's recovery.

"It means Merle will be prosecuted for his assault against Daryl."

_Prosecuted. Assault._

Her head spun, and she struggled to understand how these words applied to her life now.

"I don't know," she breathed. "I don't know."

And every other time he'd asked her after that, it had been, "We'll have to ask him as soon as we can what he wants to do about Merle. If he'll want to press charges." Or something to that effect.

She'd stopped answering him after the third time he'd brought it up, and Rick would put a hand on her shoulder and give a supportive squeeze. "I'm here for you," he would say.

And then she would sit there alone with Daryl once more, and beg him to wake up.

_Please, Daryl. I can't do this by myself. I need you._

* * *

When he came to, he peered out through the blur in his eyes, trying to make sense of where he was. It all came barrelling back to him at warp speed, the reality of what had happened in his home crashing down around him.

Carol's loud sobbing. _Daryl, stop!_

Carol.

He felt the featherlight tickle of her fingertips on his hand then,and shifted his head to look towards the sensation. At the soft sound of his head swishing against the pillow, Carol shot her eyes toward him, her fingertips brushing against his on the bed.

"_Daryl_," she breathed with heavy relief.

She stood immediately and leaned towards his face, placing a hand ever so lightly on his cheek before leaning in to kiss his mouth softly. She felt the slightest twitch of his lips in response and hoped that she didn't hurt him.

"You alright?" he asked, his good eye boring into hers.

"I'm fine," she reassured in an intense whisper. "Are _you_? How do you feel?"

"Not sure yet. Stiff. How come you actin' like I'm made 'a glass?"

She slumped back into her chair, her face dejected, though she tried to make herself look lighter.

Her fingertips made their way back to his, and he stretched them just barely, trying to weave them with hers.

"It's the only part of you I'm sure I won't hurt. You're black and blue all over," she told him quietly.

She looked back to his face, though it was hard. She watched the way he clenched his jaw, and the way his eye shut as he pulled back his frustration. He didn't know what he looked like. And she didn't want him to know.

"He stabbed you," she whispered.

"Yeah."

"But you'll be alright. The doctor said you'll be fine," she reassured him. "You had an operation-"

"Did he touch you?" She hadn't expected him to cut her off with such a question.

She looked up at him suddenly, taken aback once again by the sight of his injuries. _All superficial_, the doctor had told her. _It looks worse than it is._

But here he sat, an eye swollen shut and fresh out of surgery, asking if she was okay. Genuinely concerned that she came out of the whole thing unscathed.

"Carol," he repeated a bit more firmly. "He lay a hand on you?"

"N-no," she stammered. "No, he didn't, I swear. Well, just that one…time…"

He turned his face away from her, remembering the sight of her hitting the wall. The way her face winced in pain as her head slammed into the glass of the picture frame behind her. It had sent him into a blind rage. He couldn't remember the details after that. It was all blurry.

"He was high," she muttered.

"Yeah, he was."

"I didn't know what to do. I panicked."

"Ain't a thing you coulda done," he told her quietly. "'M just glad you ain't been hurt worse."

"But here _you_ are," she began and stopped herself abruptly, unable to trust herself to keep her tears away.

"Better me than you," he muttered.

His fingers squeezed hers gently, and she covered their hands with her other one. She ignored the statement, because it _wasn't_ better. Nothing was better.

"They want to know if you're going to press charges." She told him in a whisper, her eyes not daring to look up at him until after she'd managed to get the words out.

He watched her as he contemplated for a short moment. And then he shook his head slowly. _No._

The worry in Carol's brow quickly disappeared as her face turned to one of disbelief. And then the tears flowed freely, and she bent forward to press her forehead to their joined hands. She felt Daryl's free hand snake its way into her hair as he lightly massaged at her scalp, physically unable to do any more than that.

She hadn't been sure what she was expecting his answer to be as she'd listened to Rick ask her over and over, but it seems that she hadn't been expecting him to let this go. To let Merle go.

"Hey," he rasped, gently trying to nudge her face to his. "Hey, come on. Look at me."

She complied with his request, lifting her head to look at him so that he could see her tear-soaked face. She shook her head once more, her cries still silent as she didn't know what to say.

_Why? He hurt you. Why?_

"He needs help," he told her, his fingers lingering in her hair as he caressed the soft skin of her neck.

A choked sob escaped her then before she nodded in agreement.

"We tried," she whispered back shakily.

"We tried," he agreed. "Ain't up to us anymore."

* * *

They stopped talking about Merle after that, instead focussing on his prognosis and all the information the doctor had given her.

A nurse came in a little while later, and Carol stepped out to give Daryl some privacy. She could see in his face that his pride had kept him from wanting her there. He was vulnerable, unable to even move by himself. Not to use the bathroom or to hold the back of his hospital gown shut, and so she'd given him an understanding smile and stepped out for his examination.

Once Carol shut the door to Daryl's room, she leaned heavily against the wall with a sigh, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose.

"Carol," a soft but gravelly voice called from just in front of her. She looked up to meet Rick's kind eyes, his hat in his hands, the crease in his brow seemingly etched there forever.

"He said no," she told him with a shaky voice.

"Carol-"

"He doesn't want to press charges. I don't…I don't understand-"

"Merle is missing," he interrupted.

She looked up at him with wide eyes. "What do you mean?" she stammered.

"No one's been able to find him since yesterday. You're the last person who's seen him. He's vanished."

"What does that mean? What do we do now?"

"It means we keep looking. _Carol_," he took a step forward and placed a hand on her arm when he watched her face crumple and tears fill her eyes. "We will find him. He _will not_ get away with this, alright? I promise you."

She nodded adamantly in an attempt to reassure herself that it was true, as she wiped away the tears that had begun to spill onto her cheeks.

"What do I tell Daryl?"

"I can talk to him, if you like. Or we can do it together."

She nodded at him, liking that option. "Together," she repeated.

And when the nurse emerged from Daryl's room, Rick took her hand, and they made their way back inside to give Daryl the news.

He'd remained stoic as he listened to the Sheriff explain the situation. He wasn't sure how he felt about any of it. His instinct told him to be worried for his brother's safety, but his mind told him he shouldn't fucking care. As long as Carol was safe, as long as Merle stayed the hell away from her.

"So we keep looking," was all Daryl had said almost to himself, and he'd said it with such finality that they knew that was the end of it. "He'll turn up."

* * *

Merle had simply disappeared.

For two whole days after the incident, he had been gone. Not a soul knew where he was, not even the police. Not Daryl or Carol. Not Mrs. McLeod.

Rick Grimes had come by a time or two to check on Daryl and give an update on the search. The update that there had been no update.

Not until that afternoon when Rick had left them at the hospital, only to call a short hour later and tell them Merle was in custody.

He'd gotten high, taken himself downtown. Terrorized an old man at a mailbox and terrified a little girl on the sidewalk. Screamed at her father and shoved the man hard before finding a large enough stone in a decorative garden display and throwing it through a bakery's front window. Then he ran the last two blocks to the police station and barged in with a banging of the door and some colorful language. He punched an officer in the face, knocking him to the ground, and getting in a few more hits before three other officers had pulled their weapons him. They'd found a small bag of marijuana and another of crystal meth in his pocket. Yet another of cocaine in his boot. He was locked up in record time.

Merle didn't fight them as they cuffed his hands behind his back, didn't spit in anyone's face as they read him his rights. He'd demanded they skip the mandatory trial and lock him up immediately, and he became agitated when they told him it wasn't legally possible.

So he went through with the routine trial the very next morning and plead guilty to all offences without batting an eye.

_He'd been asking for it_, Rick had told them.

_He wanted to get caught._


	14. Chapter 14

**Hi everyone! Thank you so very much to those who've stuck around this far...I appreciate your support more than you'll ever know : )**

**This chapter has no warnings, other than a ****_very_**** brief reference to Merle's "incident" with the dog.**

**I'm really looking forward to hearing your thoughts on this one...enjoy! oxox**

* * *

Daryl had been asleep when the phone rang at the house. They had arrived home from the hospital the evening before, with just enough medication to last him a day or two. He'd been in bed basically since they'd returned, sleeping off the pain thanks to the drugs they had prescribed for him.

Carol picked up the receiver the very instant she heard the chime of the second ring, not wanting to interrupt Daryl's rest.

"Hello?" she rasped lowly.

"Mouse," came the voice, and she could swear that she felt every inch of her body turn to ice. It wasn't his usual barking timbre – just a simple word, spoken like any other – but it chilled her to her very depths.

She didn't say anything in return, equal parts speechless at the sound of his voice and entirely unwilling to ever say a word to him ever again.

Neither she nor Daryl had spoken to him since that day, and she had been starting to believe that they were both okay with that.

Merle broke the silence first, asking her to stop in for a visit. He needed to talk to her, he said. _Please._

"Daryl just fell asleep. Maybe when he wakes up, if there's still time," she tried dismissing him as quickly as she could, her tone suggesting that most certainly, neither of them would not be making any kind of effort to go see him.

"_Mouse,_" he growled, and she heard his sharp intake of breath before his next words came out much calmer. "Carol. I need to talk to you."

"So, _talk_. I'm listening." She made no attempt to keep the annoyance from her voice.

She heard his rumble of frustration, and she didn't care.

"Ain't a conversation I can have over the phone, Carol. Only got a couple minutes left. Come on. Leave Daryl home. Let him rest. It's you I wanna see. Please."

She hadn't a clue what possessed her, or why on earth Merle had a way of pulling her in. But there was something about him that she pitied so badly, and another something that had her terrified. And so she agreed, if for no other reason than to tell him to stay away.

She wrote Daryl a note and left it next to him on the bed.

_Gone to pick up your medicine. Be back soon. I love you._

More lies. Though she'd promised herself that she would pick up his prescriptions on the way back, so that it was more of a half-truth than an outright lie. She hated Merle so entirely, and she seethed the entire way to the prison.

Rick had told them that Merle was looking at a minimum of four years. Assaulting an officer and three civilians, vandalism, and drug possession. He'd pled guilty to every charge, and had already enrolled in a rehab program so that he could use his time in prison to get clean.

With that news, Carol and Daryl had locked eyes so intently, hope and doubt and compassion and anger all swirling together in a cyclone of heaviness between them.

_Too little, too late._

The guilt of what Merle had done to Daryl had gotten to him. Rick had told them it was evident in every word he said, every move he made. But neither Daryl nor Carol were sure they believed him. Daryl had never known Merle to feel guilty a day in his life.

And all the concern for him – every urge that Carol ever had to help this man – had dripped steadily out of her as she drove mile after mile to the jail, until she pulled into the parking lot and there was nothing left of her to give.

* * *

"You tell Daryl you was comin'?"

She mutely shook her head no, her eyes like steel as they bore into his. He nodded back at her, unable to voice his thanks. Whether it be because of pride or because he simply wasn't thankful, she really couldn't care less.

They sat together in a small room, each sitting on a chair with a steel table between them, and a guard watching them through a window.

Carol glared at him as she realized that he clearly didn't remember all the different ways he'd terrorized them. He didn't remember the way he touched her that night by the coffee table. He didn't remember slamming her head into the wall. He didn't realize the tension and hurt and pain that he had caused for his brother every single day.

"He would have killed you, you know. If he'd have come here with me." And she meant that literally. She hoped he understood.

"Woulda loved to see him try," Merle chuckled in a poor attempt at lightening the moment.

Merle watched as her jaw tensed, the steel in her eyes not faltering for a moment, not appreciating his humor in the least.

"I was on your side," she repeated the words she'd said to him before. _That day._

He was speechless. For the first time since she'd known him, Merle Dixon was speechless. His eyes flitted down to the surface in front of him to his shackled hands as he breathed a little heavier through his nose, but he looked right back up at her when she spoke again.

"I'm giving up on you."

"Don't," he pressed, his voice raising slightly. "I turned myself in. I'm getting fuckin' _help_. What more do you fuckin' _want_ from me?"

"You felt guilty because you stabbed your brother and put him in the hospital. Congratulations, you have a conscience." Her tone was completely void of pleasantry. Void of caring. Void of feeling. She didn't blink, she didn't flinch. She just sat there with her arms crossed against her chest and told him what was.

For once, he couldn't argue with her.

He swallowed hard and then sucked his teeth as his gaze drifted once again away from hers, though she glared unwaveringly at him.

"Daryl's all I got," he muttered, remorse lacing his words.

"You had me, too."

"'_Had_'?"

She paused as she glared his way, unable to say any of the words that were screaming inside her head.

_You hurt him. You hurt us. You're a predator, and you're a horrible human being who ruined a young girl's life with your irresponsibility. You're useless. You're selfish._

_I hate you._

She forced out the only word that would make it through the barrier.

"_Daryl_," she began by way of explanation, her voice catching slightly and her eyes betraying her. She couldn't be impassive anymore, not when this was about Daryl. Not when he almost died at the hands of the man who claimed he was the only human being on earth who truly loved him.

But she didn't need to say any more than that. He knew what she meant, and he looked away with shame clouding his eyes. She was happy for it – more than she should have been – to see that look on his face.

"_I need you_," he muttered tightly, his eyes cast away from hers. Cowering.

Her mind flitted instantly to that poor dog.

_Retribution._

She shook her head against his words even though he wasn't looking at her, rolling her tear-filled eyes as though she thought he was truly full of shit. She fought against how desperately the words came out. How defeated and afraid he sounded.

His eyes cut back to her when he found his resolve. "I need _him_. Alright? Is that what you want to hear?"

"_No_, Merle, that's not what I want to hear. It's not what _either_ of us wants. All we _ever_ wanted was for you to be okay."

He paused at that, deflating slightly. Because he knew in every part of him that she was telling the truth. He didn't deserve a single soul giving him what the two of them had, and he knew it. But they had given it anyway, and he had trampled all over it. Turned it into something that didn't matter.

"I will be. But I still need you," he muttered.

"You _had_ us, Merle. But you ruined it. I can't do this anymore. I tried…I tried to help you. _We_ tried to help you. And I'm-" she paused and took a deep breath, willing her cries to keep out of this, just for the moment. "I'm sorry that I couldn't…we couldn't help you. But we tried. We really tried."

The silence between them was deafening, the tension so thick that it was suffocating her. Neither of them could bear to look at the other, though neither of them made any kind of move to leave.

"I wanted you to come here so I could talk to you," he said quietly.

"So, say something," she shrugged, her tone exhausted.

"Amy's pregnant."

"I know."

He looked at her suddenly, the shock written plainly across his face in bright red block letters, and she felt like she was finally getting her breakthrough.

He paused as he waited for her to continue – to explain – but she didn't. She didn't owe him anything.

"Well?" he pressed.

"Well, _what_?"

Their voices were rising again, and Carol became increasingly more aggravated at how incapable he was of having a civilized conversation.

"Ain't you got anything to say about it?"

"What's there to say? She's giving up the baby. She's smart enough to know you're useless, and she's not ready to be a mother all by herself."

Merle watched her as she spoke and scrutinized her when she finished as though he was calculating his next words.

"That's just the thing, Mouse," he drawled ruefully as his voice trailed off.

"What?"

"That's my fuckin' _kid_."

Her eyes grew wide then, and she uncrossed her arms and leaned forward, glaring menacingly at him as her hands clutched tightly to the edge of the table. "What are you _saying_? You want to be a _father_, Merle? You're in_ prison_. You're a _criminal_."

"I know that," he appeased. "I know, alright? Didn't say _I_ wanted the kid, I just…I don't _not_ want the kid."

Her eyes watered, and she shook her head incredulously as she tried to take in his words. She was so angry with him, for already playing with this child's emotions. For not treating it like a human being. For not thinking of its best interests.

For being given the gift – the _privilege_ – of becoming a parent when he was the last person in the world who deserved this. When she couldn't herself be a mother; her own baby ripped right from her body, and her whole life's ambition stolen away from her with the blink of an eye.

_So ignorant._

"What are you saying?" she whispered slowly, her patience stretched to its absolute limit.

"You were gonna be a mother," he said simply. Her furrowed eyebrows and tear-filled eyes didn't budge as she waited for him to continue. "I ain't fit to be no one's daddy. I don't wanna be. But you-"

"Merle," she cut him off, her tone warning.

"You were gonna be a mother," he repeated once more, but again she intercepted.

"_Stop_," she begged, as though his words were physically hurting her.

"_Listen to me_," he fought back firmly. "You want that kid to be sent away to live with some strangers? That's my baby," he argued. "_That's our baby_."

"So, what the hell do you _want_?" she hissed, desperate for him to just come out with it. To say the actual words so that her mind wouldn't have to spin so violently with possibilities, though she was utterly terrified all at the same time.

"_You_ raise this baby. _You_ be his mama. With Daryl. You do it together. Keep him in the family, Carol. That's our kin. That's our _kid_."

And now it was her turn for the shock to bleed out of her right onto the table between them.

"Merle-"

"Two minutes," the guard interjected.

She heard the warning but couldn't make herself look towards the man who interrupted them. Couldn't make herself look away from Merle at all as she leaned forward, still grasping at the table, tears brimming thickly in her eyes.

"Merle, you don't know what you're talking about. _Think about it_," she whispered hotly.

"You think I ain't been thinking about this since the goddamn minute she fuckin' told me? _I thought about it_."

"_Merle_," she tried again stiffly.

"Talk to Daryl. Just…fuckin' _talk_ to him. Please. You two are the best goddamn shot this kid has at a decent fuckin' life."

They both stood abruptly as the guard approached, wanting to be cooperative but not willing for this visit to end, not yet.

Merle rounded the table to face her now with nothing between them – his wrists cuffed and hanging in front of him – looking for all the world like he wanted to move towards her. Looking her up and down with hopeful eyes as she stood rigidly in her spot. He took a step towards her slowly, his gaze intent on her face, and leaned in to whisper in her ear.

This was a desperate man. Stripped of every ounce of his pride and security blanket. He was begging her.

"Talk to him. _Please_."

She hadn't noticed she'd been leaning into him until he had backed away, and she faltered slightly as she regained her balance.

He spared her one more passing glance over his shoulder, and then he was gone.

* * *

Carol arrived home with the paper bag of medication, stoic as she moved through the house and into the bedroom. She paused in the doorway when she noticed Daryl wasn't in bed, and turned swiftly with panic in her chest before she heard the flush of the toilet.

Daryl opened the bathroom door slowly, having to take it easy because of the ongoing pain. She rushed to his side before he'd even noticed she was there, and he smirked down at her as she fussed over him, wrapping her arm around his waist and pulling his over her shoulder for support.

"Hey. You're back," he murmured.

"Yeah," she attempted to huff out a laugh, dutifully avoiding his gaze. "Couch or bed?"

"Couch," he told her, and they made their way over slowly before she helped him get as comfortable as possible.

Carol had already flitted back to the kitchen, filling a glass with water and fixing him his next dosage, without realizing he'd been watching her the whole time.

"What's the matter?" he asked finally.

"Hm?" she responded distractedly, finally glancing his way.

"Somethin's up. What is it?"

Her motions were steady and smooth as she closed the pill bottles and picked up the cup, bringing everything over to him and setting them down on the crate that was temporarily serving as their coffee table.

She positioned herself squarely facing him before she spoke.

"I went to see Merle today. That's where I was."

Every ounce of ease that he had felt in her warming presence drained from his face in record timing.

"The fuck did you do that for?" he muttered.

"I don't know. He asked me to, but I don't know why I went," she told him honestly, shaking her head at herself and squeezing her eyes shut as she rubbed roughly at her temple. "He told me about Amy," she added, looking back to him once more.

He had been glaring her way with a hurt expression on his beautiful features, and it crushed her.

She proceeded to tell him everything about their visit, almost word for word if she could remember it that well. And then she got to the hard part, taking his hand tenderly in hers, and focussing on the way his strong one looked amidst the smallness of hers.

"Daryl," she began, steadying herself with a breath. "He wants us to raise the baby. You and I. He…he asked if we would raise the baby."

Daryl was silent for a long time as his eyes raked over her face. Like he didn't believe her.

"What'd you tell him?" he asked finally, his voice rasping.

"I told him he didn't know what he was saying."

And then the silence took over once more, but for so long that Carol had become aware of just how much her hands were shaking around his.

Finally, Daryl made a move. Shook his head incredulously before he spoke.

"So, _what_? I'm supposed to just clean up his mess? _Again_? He knocks up some girl, and _I'm_ supposed to step up and be its daddy?"

Carol nodded in understanding at his words, at the hurt that laced his voice. That Daryl was interpreting it this way was of no surprise to her. It had crossed her own mind on the drive back from the prison as she ran through every facet of this mess in her head.

"He wants me to raise his fuckin' kid so that he gets to have his cake and eat it too? _Fuck him_," he shouted.

And all Carol could do was nod once again, because she understood every feeling that was coursing through Daryl's body and mind. But still she held his hand, fidgeting with it slightly in her anxious state.

"He said he doesn't want the baby to be sent away to strangers, because it's his kin," she said softly, barely louder than a whisper. "He said we're the best shot this kid has."

She looked up at him then, at the storm brewing in his eyes, and he breathed heavily as he glared back at her, his attempt at being objective so very clear to her, even though his anger was winning out.

A few more minutes of tension-filled silence passed before Daryl picked up the remote, effectively ending their conversation.

* * *

For three whole days, Daryl didn't talk about it. Except for the evening of day two, when he barked out a question at the dinner table.

"What about Amy?"

Carol blinked in surprise, not having a clue how to answer that. "I suppose she'd have the final say. I'd have to talk to her, if we…decided…"

She let her words trail off unfinished as she picked at the rest of her supper.

* * *

On the morning of day four, they were in the shower when Daryl had brought it up once more. Carol had been kneeling on the floor of the tub in front of him as she scrubbed away at his calves, helping him wash just as she had been since they'd been home.

"What do _you_ want?" he asked suddenly, breaking the silence that the streaming water had afforded them.

Her movements faltered only just, as she considered his question. She finished washing his lower legs, and moved on to his ankles and feet methodically before making any kind of attempt to answer him. He grasped her elbow and helped her to stand when she was ready, and he moved back half a step so that the water flowed down over them both as the steam swirled around them.

"I want you to be happy," she said confidently. "I want _us_ to be happy. That's what I want."

He didn't respond but his eyes softened so dramatically that she almost wanted to cry at his compassionate spirit.

"Carol," he urged softly, his eyes fluttering shut as he breathed her name.

"I don't know," she acquiesced. "A part of me thinks he's being a selfish asshole, but another part of me wonders how much he means it."

He nodded softly in agreement, his brow furrowed in concern for her. She was in this too.

"Only thing Merle ever cared about was blood. _Family_," he told her. "Got a fucked up way of showing it. But he means it."

She nodded her understanding, her eyes wide on his but still unable to vocalize her complete confusion over the situation.

He swallowed hard, looking down at their toes almost touching as the water swirled at their feet before looking back up at her.

"You wanna have a baby with me?" he grunted out. And with that very question, she could hear every bit of the turmoil that he'd endured over the last few days.

"I do."

He placed a hand on her hip then, and let his thumb circle softly on the skin there. Flexed his fingers just a little so that she felt the slight squeeze on her skin. She took a step closer, her body only a hair's width away from his. Her hand reached up to rest on the soft skin of his neck, and her thumb moved smoothly over his jaw.

"I ain't doin' this for Merle," he said. "It's all for that baby. All of it."

* * *

Carol had approached Amy at the coffee shop she worked at – her only way of getting in contact with her, and the two took a chilly walk around the neighborhood together, bundled up in their coats and scarves. The girl had nothing short of an emotional breakdown as she listened to Carol's proposal.

Carol had pled their case hard, knowing the impression the girl had of the Dixon name – of the type of man Merle had shown her he was. She told her that they both had clean records, and that she could ask everyone around town what kind of people they were. Told her she could talk to Sheriff Grimes and the principal at the school Carol worked at.

With a shaky voice and glassy eyes, she told Amy that she'd almost had a baby herself once upon a time.

She left Amy with her number. Told her to think about it. Told her she'd understand completely if she decided this wasn't right for her child.

_But please think about it._

Six days after Carol had approached Amy, she'd called Carol back. She told her that her older sister was a lawyer and had run background checks on them both.

They'd all have to meet together, but she was open to it.

And so Carol and Daryl set up a meeting with Amy and her lawyer-sister, Andrea. They'd talked about rights and signed papers, and made further appointments to sign more papers. Carol had promised Amy that she'd happily be with her at every single doctor's appointment.

She told the girl that she was always welcome in their home, and that the baby would always be hers if she wanted. But Amy had refused, wanting to sever any connection she had to this – to Merle.

"I only want my baby to be loved. That's all I want," she said simply. "Take care of my baby, Carol."

* * *

Two weeks after her initial visit to the prison, Carol and Daryl made their way back there together.

Merle had been surprised to see his brother walk into the little room with Carol, and his eyes lit up just enough that Carol's lip twitched in the faintest of smiles.

Merle's gaze travelled over Daryl – assessing – and Carol didn't miss the quiet sigh of relief when his appraisal had turned up satisfactory.

He'd been healing.

"We doin' this? We got rules, Merle," Daryl said by way of introduction, as soon as he sat down in his chair. "An' we got a lawyer so you better listen up real good."

Merle's eyes cut towards Carol and she smiled, confirming the question in his eyes.

_Yes. We're doing this._

And her smile wasn't for Merle, because he was getting what he asked for. Her smile was for Daryl and herself, because they were getting what _they_ had asked for.

"I'm listenin'," was all he said in response to his little brother.

"You ain't never gonna be alone with this kid. Ever. You wanna visit, you'll have babysitters, because I don't trust you. On paper, this kid's ours. _Ours_. You ain't makin' the rules, you ain't tellin' us what to do."

Merle sat stoically and clenched his jaw as he listened to the list grow.

"We'll bring your child here to see you. Every weekend if we can." Carol could hear the softening of Daryl's voice as he spoke this part, and saw the way Merle's chin quirked up the tiniest bit. _Alright, this ain't so bad._

Carol knew it would be inappropriate to snicker at the aggressive finger Daryl was pointing his brother's way, so she bit her tongue and sat still.

"But when you get outta here, you ain't livin' with us. You need to get a job and a fuckin' place to live. And you can be around your kid as much or as little as you want. But me and Carol make the rules, and the rules say we get to kick you out if you're bein' an asshole."

Merle nodded with the smallest jerk of his head.

"The rules say," Daryl continued, "that you can't make _any_ rules."

Merle looked up at Carol with a hint of surprise in his eyes and sat up a little straighter, not having expected this news at all. Not having expected Daryl to be so rigid, or perhaps for them to be taking this on at all. But he nodded as he took it all in, scanning the empty table in front of him as he took a moment to process it all.

"We're not looking to take your child away from you, Merle," Carol interjected softly. "But if you want us to do this, we're doing it properly. We won't confuse him or her. We won't tolerate instability. If we do this," she paused with a glance towards Daryl. "We're putting the baby first. Always."

Merle only nodded, his eyes flitting between Carol and the table top, his tongue visibly running along his top teeth as he processed it all.

"What's he gon' call you?" he asked finally.

"He can call me Aunt Carol, if he wants," she shrugged, as though it was that simple. But Daryl and Carol had clearly talked about this already, because she hadn't skipped a beat or had a shadow of a doubt in her voice. He could see clearly that they had decided already what kind of arrangement they wanted. "And Uncle Daryl," she finished, motioning to the man at her side.

Merle swallowed hard and his mouth went dry as he worked up the courage to ask his next question.

"What's he gon' call me?" And he asked so quietly that Carol had almost missed it.

"Daddy," she answered simply. "He'll call you daddy."


	15. Chapter 15

**Kicking it off now with another blast from the Caryl past...my personal favourite flashback, and I know Stephtron312 has a soft spot for it, too. ; )**

**I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

It was one unsuspecting night, before they lived together. Daryl's world has shifted once again as they sat on his couch watching television, his arm around her as she fit cozily into his side. Her fingers danced with his as his arm draped over her shoulder, and she had been tracing each of the veins on his hand and forearm lightly with her fingertip. At one point she pulled his thumb to her lips and peppered a series of featherlight kisses on the pad of it. She took a turn examining each of his fingers after that, using both of her hands for a more thorough inspection, her own fingers soft on his as they stroked his skin.

"My hands are filthy," he chuckled, enjoying the sensation nonetheless.

"They always are," she added quietly, still focused on her exploration.

He didn't respond, because it was true. His hands were rough and his short fingernails were permanently stained with a light film of black underneath, while hers were soft. Smooth. Clean.

She kissed each of his fingertips then, and he knew she didn't mind it. She loved his coarse hands, scattered with calluses from his hard work. The dirt that never seemed to disappear no matter how much he washed. His hard work was evident in his strong, beautiful hands. His thick fingers. The veins on the backs of his hands, barely visible, running just under the surface of his skin.

She could have written a book about how much she loved his hands, and the stories they told about him.

They sat quietly with the flicker of the television the only source of light in the room.

"Daryl?" she asked during one of the commercial breaks.

"Hm?" he grunted, tilting his head just barely against hers to let her know she had his attention.

Her hands stilled on his and she stayed still in her position, clutching his hand tightly as she braced herself to say her piece.

"I love you."

There was a moment when neither of them moved. The briefest moment where time and space ceased to exist entirely before he shifted a little towards her, and she sat up straighter, looking him in the eye. Gauging his reaction, and very obviously nervous about it, although there was a calm in her eyes that did not reflect in his own. Almost like some sort of weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

Only one other person he'd ever known in his life had ever told him_ I love you_. And his mother had died a long time ago, leaving him with countless years of never coming close to hearing those words again.

_Thank you for letting me say it, my sweet little boy_, she would say as she cupped his face in her warm hands. _Your brother never lets me._

He remembers having never understood why Merle wouldn't want to hear something so good from their own mother. Some days it was the only thing that kept him going. Knowing his mother loved him made it just a bit easier to deal with everything his father was.

_I love you, my baby_.

It was normal to him, that his mother would tell him something like that at least once every day, and he knew that he loved her too. He'd told her so, every now and again, and she'd smiled so bright that it lit him up from the inside. And his little self would marvel at the way just a few words could make someone feel so whole.

_I love you, mama_.

Sometimes his mother would be crying when he told her. Other times she'd be sitting apathetic on their porch steps, using the glass of liquid that he knew wasn't water to soothe a blackening eye.

Sometimes she'd just been happy, fixing him a sandwich for lunch, smiling down at him from where she stood at the kitchen counter.

But hearing these words come out of Carol's mouth – having someone tell him that very thing when they were under no obligation to do so – was a wonder so fantastic that he just couldn't wrap his head around it. How could she love him? There were people in this world who were lovable, he understood. But he wasn't one of them. His mama was the first and the last, and that had been something he'd counted as special. A memory.

_At least I had that._

What he felt for Carol was so much more than he knew what to do with. It was in every fibre of every part of him. In every move he made and every single thought that flitted through his mind. Every word that came out of his mouth. It had never occurred to him to call it something, though. To give it a name. He had never realized there was a word that existed for what he felt for her. She had always just been a person he cared about knowing. Cared about being happy. Cared about seeing and touching and talking to. And he wanted to have whatever it was that he had with her all day, every day, and forever.

The feelings he had for her – the feelings she gave him - they just _were_. He never imagined they'd be something he'd speak about out loud, but only feel inside of him. And that was okay.

"You don't have to say it back," she whispered, and he realized he hadn't reacted yet. "I know it's a lot. But I just felt like I wanted you to know. Because I do, and I've never really been so sure about this kind of thing before."

He nodded his head dumbly and watched her mouth as she spoke, as though seeing her mouth moving would make it seem more real that the words were really coming from there.

After a hard swallow, he croaked out some words. "You're sure that's what it is?"

She smiled softly. "I'm sure."

He smiled too. "Say it again," he urged gently.

"_I'm sure_," she repeated, a little slower, her sweet lips curved upwards in _that smile._

His own smile was so small and disbelieving, unable to understand how this conversation had made its way into his life. Because hearing it out loud, hearing her say those three little words, he was entirely certain that it was what he was feeling. She'd put it into words, so simply, as though she'd known it all along and had been helping him remember something that had been just on the tip of his tongue.

"I'm sure, too," he told her.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

She settled back into him as he wrapped his arm around her once more, and they each went through with the charade of watching television, though neither was paying any real attention.

A few minutes had passed before she felt the shift of his head against hers, the feel of his mouth against her hair, and the warmth it gave as he breathed, "I love you."

His mother was on his mind that night as they crawled into his bed together, and Carol immediately curled into his side. As he stared up at the dark ceiling and ran his fingers lightly along Carol's arm, he thought for a minute that his mama would be happy to have taught him those words, and to hear him saying them again.

* * *

Carol sat on the edge of their bed, clad only in her housecoat with her hair and makeup done, as she watched Daryl button up his shirt and drape the tie over his neck.

"You just gonna watch me?" he asked with a smirk.

Her small smile broadened. "Well, what else would you have me doing?"

"Get over here and give me a hand?" he chuckled, earning a giggle in return as she stood and made her way to stand in front of him.

"Ain't never been able to tie one 'a these damn things right," he muttered, her hands flitting across his chest as she worked the knot of the tie.

"Lucky for you I'm an _expert_."

"Your daddy taught you?"

"Mmhm," she nodded, her eyes on her work. "Said I could marry me a man who might need my help one day." She looked up at him and winked as she tightened the knot and smoothed her hands over his chest, admiring her work.

"There," she sighed. "So handsome."

Rick had helped him pick out this dark grey suit, along with the crisp white shirt and light blue tie, given that this marked the first time Daryl had really ever had reason to wear one. He was a vision with his hair unkempt as it usually was and the dirt still stubbornly under his fingernails.

Daryl brought a hand up to hers as it lay on his chest and took it in his own, pulling her gently to sit next to him at the edge of the bed.

"You nervous?" he asked as he fidgeted with her fingers.

"A little."

"That why you ain't dressed yet?"

"No," she insisted, a smile tugging at her lips. "I'm waiting for you to get out so I can make an entrance. It's my big day, after all."

They were quiet for a beat before she nudged his side. "Are _you_ nervous?"

"A little. But, um…I'm excited, too."

"Me too," she smiled warmly.

He licked his lips as his eyes scanned over her face. His mouth went visibly dry and he swallowed thickly, feeling for some reason like he needed to tell her again. Reassure her. "I won't ever-"

"I know," she said swiftly, cutting him off. "I know." There was no need for them to go down that road, not today. Today was about them and only them, and anything that ever was before that had no place there.

"You gonna get dressed?" he asked.

"You gonna get out?" she countered.

He chuckled and nodded his head, moving to stand when she grabbed his forearm and pulled gently at him so that he leaned over her. She looked up at him and grabbed his face in her hands, planting a firm kiss on his mouth. She ran her thumb over his bottom lip before giving him a gentle shove with a hand to his chest.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Carol turned to the garment bag that hung from the closet door and stood in front of it, pulling the zipper down slowly to reveal the dress inside. She pushed the bag behind the hanger with a smile, revealing the front of the dress as she ran a hand over the flowing fabric of the skirt.

Carol undressed quickly, shedding her house coat hastily and tossing it on the bed behind her. Standing in her undergarments as she ran her gaze once more over the dress, her smile widened further.

She took her time with each piece of the puzzle, enjoying each and every moment as she put herself together.

She took care as she slid on her nylons, being sure to not tug hard enough to cause a run. She ran her thumbs along the inside of the elastic, making sure they were at the exact perfect spot on her waist so as not to be uncomfortable.

The dress came next, and Carol was gentle with the garment, feeling each brush of chiffon on her legs, each slide of the lace on her arms as she slipped it on slowly. She zipped up the back with ease, and studiously avoided the mirror as she bent down to grab her shoes from the closet.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she slipped on each tan-colored pump, and stood once they were on to test out the feel of them and gain her balance. A whole day in heels – it was something she certainly wasn't used to. She bit her lip at the importance of the day ahead of her, stifling a giggle.

Carol looked down at herself and ran her hands over her body, smoothing out the material of her wedding dress before turning a quarter ways and taking a step towards the mirror with her eyes shut tight.

And then she opened them.

She took it all in for a moment, admiring the way she'd pulled her curls back into a low bun, and the braids she'd weaved into her hair. She looked pointedly at each of the diamond studs that adorned her ears, and thought of the way they'd looked on her mother, once upon a time.

She stopped the trail of her gaze, skipping down to her toes in order to save her favorite part for last.

The color of her shoes matched her skin tone almost perfectly, elongating her legs elegantly, and she admired the way she looked in them. Lori was right, wearing heels on your wedding day made all the difference.

Her eyes travelled up the length of her legs until they met the hem of the cream-colored chiffon that flowed just above her knees. The weightless fabric flowed ethereally up to cinch at her waist and fitted over her bust into a sweetheart neckline. The scalloped edge of the lace overlay lay in an open V-shape on her chest and ran down her arms to just past her elbows.

And as her eyes lingered at the edge of the lace on her left arm, she took a steadying breath before refocussing her sights on the whole picture of her reflection.

What she saw looking back at her made her jaw go slack and her eyes widen as one side of her mouth curved up into a smile of disbelief. Made her _happy_. She couldn't believe she was here, getting dressed for her wedding to a man that she had never been more sure of. Her whole self buzzed with excitement at the realization that it was time now to present herself to her groom.

She turned the doorknob as quietly as she could and peeked through the tiny crack just long enough to see Daryl propped on the arm of the couch, his leg bouncing nervously as he worried the skin at the edge of his thumbnail.

She smiled widely at the image and reached back to swiftly grab her sky blue cardigan off the bed – an extra layer to ward off the chilly early-March weather – and opened the door to step into his sights.

And he stood abruptly as he sensed the motion from their bedroom door, his gaze locked on her form as she stepped out of the bedroom. Daryl sucked in a breath, overwhelmed at the sight of her standing there in her marriage clothes. Standing just outside of their bedroom door with her feet planted firmly together and her fingers clasped in front of her, the blue cardigan draped loosely over her arm. Her cheeky smile and the blush that spread quickly over her cheeks, paired with the tantalizing smoothness of the skin over her collarbones was just enough to leave him salivating.

"Carol," he began with a breath, but she cut him off as she stepped towards him and held a hand up in warning.

"_Don't_," she said firmly, her lips curled up into a smile. "You'll make me cry."

They advanced towards one another then, until they closed the distance between them and met in the middle.

"Fuckin'…_beautiful_," he muttered, his eyes wandering over her incredulously. Her high heels, her white dress. All for him.

She grinned up at him, and the soft knocking at the door interrupted all of the incoherent thoughts that were racing through her mind.

Daryl reluctantly turned to answer it and stepped aside to clear the way for Mrs. McLeod. She laid a hand on his forearm and gave him a fleeting smile as she stepped inside, and her eyes turned immediately to Carol.

"Oh, my…" she trailed off at the vision of the bride, and Carol smiled brightly in thanks as she was enveloped in the woman's arms. "I was worried I was going to miss you."

"We're just heading out now," Carol told her.

But Mrs. McLeod had insisted on taking their photo, fulfilling her duties as surrogate mother to them both. She ushered them gently together to stand in the living room, and Carol and Daryl chuckled to themselves when she conveniently produced a camera from her purse.

Once the picture was snapped Daryl moved to grab his jacket off the arm of the couch, and Carol slipped on her sweater before Daryl held out her coat for her.

Before allowing them to finally make their exit, Mrs. McLeod made sure that Carol had each of her something new, blue, borrowed and blue, and smiled with pride to see that her many lectures about wedding superstition were clearly not lost on the younger woman.

And then they walked out of the house together and the couple said their goodbyes to their dear neighbor before climbing into their truck and driving off to their wedding.

* * *

They arrived at the prison thirty five minutes early in order to leave enough time for the standard visiting procedures.

They were searched and stripped of everything other than the rings, Carol's bouquet, and the envelope holding the marriage license. The hem of her dress was measured to ensure that it was long enough, and she buttoned up her cardigan all the way at the instruction of the prison guard.

No see-through clothing. No low-cut tops.

But she'd be allowed to remove her sweater once they were closed off in the private room they'd been allotted to be married in, the guard told her.

Special occasion or not, rules were rules, and Daryl shot her an apologetic look at she went through her necessary modifications, though she simply smiled up at him in return. She would have married him in a potato sack if she had to.

They walked in silence side by side, hands clasped tightly as they were escorted to the right place and sneaking glances at one another along the way.

Merle had been waiting for them with the officiant, and both men stood as the bride and groom entered and shut the door behind them.

Casual introductions were exchanged before Daryl discussed legalities with the officiant, and Merle approached Carol. He wasn't cuffed today, a privilege of being a witness to his brother's wedding and having stayed out of trouble for the better part of a month, though a guard stood by, just off to the side.

"Hey there, Mouse," he began, and Carol couldn't help but smile kindly at her brother-in-law. "Feelin' a little underdressed here," he joked. Carol's eyes shifted only slightly as she worked to keep the smile on her face, knowing that he couldn't have felt any more like a prisoner right now in his coveralls.

But there was nothing she could do about it, or could have done. He'd made his bed, and it had brought them all to this very moment.

"Lookin' good, sugarplum," he said sincerely.

"Thank you, Merle," she answered in a whisper, and leaned in to place a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you for doing this," she added, grasping his hand to give it a squeeze.

They'd told him they were getting married right after they'd told him they would raise his child. And he wasn't entirely sure what to make of it, what with him not being the marrying kind. He'd told them they could do what they damn well pleased, but it was clear he was uneasy about it all.

Merle had never understood marriage, and on a much deeper level than Daryl hadn't understood it. It was simply a means to a very ugly end, by his experience, and he'd fought himself hard to keep his mouth shut about it. They'd just told him they'd give him his child. He would give them this.

When they asked him to be a witness, he'd scoffed at them and reminded them sarcastically that he was in prison.

"We want to do it here," Carol had said with a roll of her eyes. "_With you."_

That had marked the first and only time that either of them had ever seen Merle Dixon blush. Regardless of the fact that he couldn't truly understand the importance of such a role, they'd thought of him. Wanted him there. It was a kindness he certainly couldn't argue.

When the officiant had told them then that it was time to get started, Merle moved off to the side as Carol took a step towards her groom.

She stopped herself suddenly when she realized she was still wearing her cardigan. She set her flowers down on the chair by the door and unbuttoned her sweater as quickly as she could, fumbling in her haste and effectively taking a few beats longer than she intended. When one of her sleeves got caught on her wrist as she peeled the sweater off, she shook her hand restlessly in an attempt to set it loose.

Once it finally came free it nearly missed the seat of the chair, and she grabbed it before it had a chance to slide to the floor.

She straightened up as her hands smoothed over her dress, and she looked up to find Daryl smirking sweetly at her. She looked away bashfully as she picked up her flowers and cleared her throat, glancing towards Merle as she made her way to her rightful place.

And the look on Merle's face had sobered her entirely in a fraction of an instant. He wasn't looking at her face, but down at her dress, and she noticed the tensing of his jaw as his eyes focused on the lace of her sleeve.

Anyone could see that he was overwhelmed and completely uncomfortable at the newness of the situation. A fish out of water.

She could see him fighting something in his blue eyes, and she swallowed back the emotion of it all before dragging her gaze away from her brother-in-law.

Carol stood to face Daryl then, her back to Merle and the officiant in between them, and the short ceremony began.

"We are gathered here today to witness the coming together of Daryl Dixon and Carol Sinclair in matrimony…"

Daryl hadn't exactly realized he'd already stopped listening, but was focused instead on the shine in Carol's eyes as she glanced between himself and the man speaking. And in that moment, it was like his entire life had become blindingly clear.

It had all led up to this moment. It had all led up to meeting this girl at his job and standing with her in a federal prison while they got married, with Merle as their only witness.

He thought about his childhood, his adolescence. How entirely fucked up it all was – how fucked up _he_ was – and how he'd felt trapped inside his miserable existence. Having a real family was a fairy tale that he'd always known existed, but had always accepted as something he would never have. It was simply for other people, and that had somehow become okay.

As he watched Carol standing in front of him on this day and at this time, vaguely aware that he should probably be paying attention, all he could think about was how badly he wished he'd known.

He wished he'd known that every sorry day of his life would bring him here, to the blue eyes that were now so familiar to him that their mere existence warmed him from the inside out. To the soft voice that would say _I love you_ in words and ways that he'd never thought he would have, or mean _so much_. To the night gown that would be brushed up against him every night in the bed he now shared with the woman standing in front of him. To the late night and early morning talks in the booth of that diner at the edge of town as he got to know the woman who had fundamentally changed his life. To the person that knew him better than he knew himself, and made him feel safer because of it.

It was what he'd been living for this whole goddamn time.

This. Her.

He figured it all would have been easier, had he known back then.

_Daryl, do you take Carol to be your wife?_

_Shit_. He snapped back into the moment with a pounding heart, afraid to have sincerely fucked the whole thing up already.

"Yeah. Um, yes. I do."

He saw Merle roll his eyes behind Carol before he noticed that she had been covering her mouth to silence a snicker.

"And do you, Carol, take Daryl to be your husband?"

She removed her hand from her mouth, and his eyes were locked on her luminous smile, her sparkling eyes as she confidently replied, "I do."

They exchanged rings and signed the register in all the appropriate places. As Merle was bent over the paper, scribbling his signature, Carol placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed softly. He froze in place at the touch, pausing for a moment to awkwardly place his hand atop hers before continuing with his duty as witness.

They took their places once more, and the officiant announced the telltale words that marked the end of the wedding, and the beginning of the rest.

"By the power vested in me by the state of Georgia, I now pronounce you Husband and Wife."

And then Daryl was told he could kiss his bride.

He smiled down at her and she smiled back up at him, each shuffling a half-step closer to the other. As he leaned down and placed his hands on her hips, she reached up to his face and pulled him in. She giggled against his lips at the overly chaste kiss he gave her, and pulled him firmly back towards her when he began to pull away, her mouth much more firmly pressing against his.

After further instruction on the legalities of the union, the officiant bid them farewell and the three Dixons were left alone to visit for the remainder of the hour they were allowed.

"So, I, um…went with Amy to her ultrasound a few days ago," Carol began, pulling out a small envelope from the larger one that held their license and certificate. "I got them to write down the sex of the baby on a piece of paper. So that we could all open it together, if we wanted."

"Hell, it's gotta be a _boy_," Merle bellowed, brushing her off as she held out the small white envelope to him.

"We don't know that, Merle," she chastised softly.

"_I_ do," he argued. "My damn kid, and I _know_ he's a boy."

"Do we wanna open this?" she asked the two men. "I mean, _I_ certainly don't know for sure that it's a boy, and I wouldn't mind knowing..." she trailed off.

"I say open it," Daryl voted, leaning back in his chair.

"Hell, might as well open it," Merle conceded. "Prove me right."

Carol rolled her eyes and handed Merle the envelope once more, but he sucked his teeth and shook his head. "Nah, you do the honors, Mouse."

She grinned widely, and tore through the envelope to pull out the ultrasound photo, smiling as she ran a finger over the outline of the baby in the snapshot. The tiny fingers of the outstretched hand.

The picture was passed from Carol to Daryl and finally to Merle, and as he stared in awe at the tiny figure in the blurry photograph – surprised at how _human_ the thing already looked – Carol slid out a small piece of paper and unfolded it slowly, taking a deep breath.

He took in each fuzzy detail. The shape of the nose that already kind of looked like Daryl's had when he was born. The outstretched arm and each finger curled into a fist. The legs pulled up underneath it in what was clearly the small space of its mother's womb. The roundness of the tiny belly.

Merle couldn't tear his eyes from the image in his hand, though he could see Carol in his periphery, smiling and gasping out a laugh before announcing it to them all.

"_It's a girl_."

* * *

After leaving Merle to the shock of being the father of a precious little girl – and having been entirely wrong about the baby he claimed to know so well – Daryl and Carol made a pit-stop on their way home at the diner they'd frequented so often in their early days, and wordlessly made their way to the very booth they'd made themselves comfortable in so many times before.

They ate their burgers and fries in relative silence, though Daryl had caught Carol smiling at the pink of the strawberry milkshake she'd ordered to commemorate the news more than once.

"A _daughter_," he grunted as he swirled a fry in a glob ketchup.

"Yeah," Carol replied, raising her eyebrows as she took a bite of the giant hamburger.

Daryl shook his head and smirked, contemplating the absurdity of it all. Because he and his wife would be adopting a daughter in a few short months. A daughter that was biologically Merle's – _Merle's_ – but would be his own in all the ways that counted.

"Fuckin' _crazy_," he muttered with a shake of his head.

He heard Carol chuckle around her mouthful before uttering a muffled and enthusiastic, "_Yeah_."

* * *

They arrived home to find a little cake with white frosting and pink English roses piled on top to match Carol's bouquet, sitting on a plate on their kitchen counter. A small tented card sat in front of it with one word scrawled elegantly across the front. _Congratulations_.

It had been Mrs. McLeod, they knew for sure. She had wanted them to have everything on the day of their wedding, and since she didn't have much to give, she had figured a cake was the very least she could do.

Daryl lifted Carol onto the countertop with an exaggerated groan after teasing her on their way home about how much she'd eaten for dinner. She slapped his shoulder and kicked him in the behind as he turned to the fridge, taking out two beers and opening them before flicking the light off.

He propped himself up on the counter next to her and they sat in the darkness, the light of the moon shining through the windows. She kicked off her shoes, the sound of them hitting the floor amplified in the dark and the quiet, sighing in contentment.

Carol opened the drawer just beside her legs and pulled out two forks before handing one to Daryl. They balanced the little wedding cake on their laps right in between them, and clinked their beer bottles together wordlessly before taking a swig and digging in.

"You feel any different?" he asked her after a few minutes of silence.

Her eyes travelled over his face as she said, "Nope. You?"

"Nope."

They were quiet for a few more moments as they savoured the cake they'd been gifted.

"You're beautiful," she mumbled with utmost sincerity, and meaning the word in its most truest sense. He was kind and caring. He was someone she could trust, and who made her days better. He made her feel good just by being near her. He had eyes in a shade of blue she had never seen before, which held so much depth that he could tell a tale with just a look. His arms were strong and safe. Down to his toes, and through to his bones, he was beautiful.

But when he looked at her in surprise of her random comment, he was met with her profile as she watched her fork digging into the cake for another bite.

"_Stop_," he told her bashfully as he nudged his knee against hers, a blush creeping up his neck and into his cheeks.

"You _are_," she insisted, nudging him back with her shoulder.

"I ain't anything sp-"

"_Stop_," she interrupted firmly, placing the fingertips of her free hand to his lips. "You are."

He didn't argue, even though he wanted to, and her fingers slipped from his lips as he turned his head to look down at his lap. Because _she_ was the special one, out of the two of them. It was her, it _had_ to be. She made everything better. Her kindness brought out the very best in him. Without her, he wasn't sure where he'd have ended up.

She leaned her forehead against his temple and placed a kiss to his jaw, right at the base of his earlobe.

"I love you, Daryl," she mumbled almost incoherently with a smile against his skin as her kisses travelled over his jaw and down his neck, before resting her head finally on his shoulder.

He didn't speak for a moment or two, and she was patient. He had married her today – had taken a wife and become a husband – and something as foreign as that to Daryl was bound to leave him speechless.

"Love you back, Carol Dixon," he whispered back into the quiet, so low that she barely made out the words.

She nuzzled further into his neck and she felt the plate slip from the support of her hand as he set it off to the side. She let her now-empty hand sit softly on his thigh.

"Let's go to bed," he mumbled, taking her hand in his and squeezing it tight.

He felt her nod against his shoulder, and he placed a hand on her thigh as he slipped down from the counter to face her. But instead of helping her down as she'd expected him to, he picked her up and carried her, bridal-style, over the threshold of their bedroom.

They'd helped one another slowly out of their clothes in the darkness, and he lay her down softly, spending some time worshipping her body in an attempt to show her how much he appreciated her. Needed her. Loved her.

Maybe he'd fibbed just a little bit when he'd said he didn't feel any different. Because he did feel different, in a way he was entirely certain of.

He felt better.


	16. Chapter 16

**_Hello hello!_**** Well, we are just about at the end of this tale...this is the last "official" chapter, all we'll have left is the epilogue after this one.**

**I think it might be worth noting the time jump between the decision to raise Merle's baby and the wedding (a couple of people had asked about the disconnect in attitudes). It had been just about a couple of months between those two events, and so there had been time to let everything sink in and start working on moving forward with Merle. I also felt that Caryl was at a place where they've accepted Merle for who he is and had reached a point where they were more focused on one another, and their growing little family.**

* * *

Amy went into labor on a warm Thursday evening in July.

She'd called Carol on that Wednesday morning saying she thought she may have been starting contractions. A little discomfort roughly every hour was all she'd felt, but after the fourth or fifth hour she was starting to put two and two together.

By Thursday morning they were getting stronger, and around dinnertime the pain was completely unbearable.

"Is your bag packed?" Carol had asked her as she tossed the salad she was putting together for supper, the phone wedged between her shoulder and ear.

"Yes, all packed," Amy told her with a nervous edge to her voice. "Has been for two _weeks_ now." The pregnancy had been relatively kind to the young woman, though the heat had made the last month miserable for her, and it was no secret that she was looking forward to the end.

Just then another contraction hit, and Carol stayed on the line to talk her through it.

"How far apart are they?" Carol asked once it seemed to be over.

"Nine minutes. _God_, this is taking _forever_," Amy moaned back, coming down from the pain.

"You want me to come over?"

"No," came the terse reply.

Carol's lips tightened as she took a steadying breath. Amy had always held she and Daryl at arm's length, and although Carol understood why, it still stung a little bit each time. Amy wanted to keep her distance, didn't want to form a connection with them. Because it was clear that she and Carol had the potential to be good friends, but for any of this to work, she'd need to cut ties with these people and move on with her life.

"Okay," Carol sighed. "Call me when they're at five minutes, and we'll meet you at the hospital."

They'd arranged months ago that Carol would be by her side through the entire delivery, along with Andrea. But Amy had asked to have the baby taken from her the moment she was birthed. She didn't want to hold her, didn't want to form a bond with her.

No skin-to-skin. No looking into her eyes or taking in each detail of her little face. She was a vessel for the delivery of this child to this family she refused to care about, and nothing more. Carol and Andrea had asked if she was sure, many times over, but Amy held firm. This baby belonged to Carol and Daryl now. She'd made her choice.

And then finally, after a doctor's appointment on a particularly emotional day, Amy came clean. She didn't want to ever know those things about her daughter, because she didn't want to ever have to miss her. So Carol had cried with her in the parking lot and declared they were going for ice cream.

Her water broke at two o'clock on Friday morning. Daryl and Carol had raced to the hospital upon receiving the call, making it there in record timing through the quiet streets. Carol had called the prison before shooting out the door, asking them to inform Merle that his baby girl was on her way. Though it had cost them a pretty penny, he'd been granted a leave pass to be there at the hospital to meet his daughter, to which they owed Andrea infinite thanks.

Daryl dozed off in the waiting room throughout the night, waking up to Carol's gentle hands on his face as she emerged from the delivery room to give him random updates.

_She's already at seven centimetres._

At five thirty, Daryl had barely stirred when Carol had come out to see him. He was slumped heavily in his seat with his legs propped up on another chair he'd apparently dragged over. So she covered him with a blanket she'd smuggled for him, kissed him on the forehead, and made her way back to Amy.

_Eight centimetres now. She's slow but steady._

At ten o'clock, Carol collapsed into the chair next to him with a exhausted sigh and a smile on her face. She accepted the cup of coffee he'd gotten for her, and they sat for a few minutes together in the quiet.

"Must be fuckin' exhausted," he muttered, running the backs of his fingers over her thigh softly.

"Yeah," she sighed in response, taking hold of his hand and squeezing it gently. He watched as she shut her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall with that smile still lingering on her lips. And his own mouth curved upwards just a bit at the sight, before he mimicked her position.

_Nine centimetres. She's doing great. They're thinking a couple more hours, maybe. Is Merle here yet?_

But the baby had come over an hour sooner than they had anticipated, just a few minutes after noon. Once Amy had hit ten centimetres and was ready to push, it was a quick twenty minutes before their little one made her very first appearance.

The squealing infant had been whisked away as Carol looked on with distress, unsure as to whether or not she was expected to stay with Amy. But with Andrea by her side, Amy had given Carol's hand a squeeze and muttered an exhausted _Go with her_, and Carol sighed an emotional thanks in response.

She leaned in, brushing a kiss across Amy's forehead and levelling a tear-filled smile Andrea's way before swiftly following in the direction they'd taken the newborn.

The moment she'd been reassured that all was well with her daughter and given instructions on where they'd be keeping her, Carol emerged through the doors to the delivery ward to give Daryl the news. He stood from his seat the instant he spotted her – bags under his eyes from his lack of sleep, but a hopeful pull at the edge of his lips – and walked hastily to his wife.

"She's here," Carol breathed. "She's here, and she's beautiful. She's healthy. She's so little. She's little and she's healthy."

Carol freed the grin she could no longer contain, letting the tears slip down her cheeks as Daryl enveloped her in his arms and held her tightly against himself.

"Congratulations, sweetheart," he whispered softly. She could hear the gentle sniffling in her ear as he took a deep breath. "Got us our little girl."

* * *

Daryl had waited until Merle arrived before going in to see his baby, though he'd urged Carol to head back to the nursery where he knew she was itching to be. Seeing the little one before her own daddy ever had a chance to just didn't seem right though, and so he waited as patiently as he could in the seat he'd claimed as his own so early that morning, leg bouncing in anticipation.

Merle had arrived, accompanied by two police officers and in handcuffs, roughly two hours after his daughter had been born. Daryl had relayed all the information he'd been given about her size, her weight, her time of birth. He'd been pleasantly surprised at how easily the information came to him – how it seemed like something he'd simply known forever. Something he'd know now on reflex, like his own birthday.

Carol showed up once again just as she had every fifteen minutes before that to see if Merle had yet arrived, and grinned widely at the new father before drawing him into a tight embrace.

"Congratulations, Daddy," she whispered.

And he clung to her hard, accepting her affection and doing all he could not to let it overwhelm him. The feelings he had coursing through him were so foreign that he almost felt like he was drowning. Being a father – having a baby, a little _girl_ – had changed everything he ever thought he knew about the world. The sun shone differently, and the wind felt new. Like he was living now in some sort of parallel universe that had shifted his reality in the smallest, most inconspicuous of ways.

"She doin' alright? How's my girl?" he asked as he pulled away.

"Come see for yourself," she said with a warm smile, taking his hand and leading the way.

She'd been kept in the nursery for now with a dozen other babies, where she would stay until it was time to take her home. Carol and Daryl had been allowed to set up camp nearby for the few days before they'd be allowed to take her home , able to feed and change her as any new parents were allowed with their babies.

Papers were signed, though no goodbyes were said, and neither Carol nor Daryl were sure if they'd ever see Amy again. It had broken Carol's heart every time she thought about it, but it was what Amy had wanted and after the gift she'd given them, Carol would grant the girl any wish she desired.

But Merle had only one hour to spend with their child before he'd be whisked back to prison, and Carol had been determined to make it count.

"Well, holy _shit_," Merle spoke in awe as he peered into the bassinet to see his baby girl. "No fuckin' way I had a hand in makin' _that_."

Daryl snorted, and Carol elbowed him in the ribs.

"She's beautiful, Merle," Carol told him.

"She is, ain't she?" his voice was soft but bursting with pride. Daryl almost couldn't believe the happiness radiating from his brother, his eyes darting gleefully between Merle and the baby.

"You done good," Daryl added.

"Hell yeah, I did," he answered in a whisper, his eyes glued to his sleeping daughter's form.

"Would you like to hold her?" the nurse asked upon entering the nursery.

"Nah, I ain't never held a baby before," he said, his smile disappearing nervously as he backed a step away from the bassinet.

The nurse was unfazed at his comment, having heard such reservations countless times routinely went about picking up the tiny bundle and placedthe little one gently in Merle's arms. "Just make sure you support the head. Be gentle. You're doing fine."

"Damn," he said rather loudly. "Light as a feather! Fuckin' terrifying as _shit_."

Carol giggled as the nurse shushed him, and bit her bottom lip as she peered on happily.

"What's her name, daddy?" Carol asked from where she stood across the bassinet.

Merle looked back at Carol with that same awed smile that had been plastered on his face since he laid eyes on his girl before turning his gaze back down to his baby, still nestled comfortably in his arms. His smile widened just a touch as he watched her sleep, so peaceful.

"This here's Clementine," he told them.

Tears sprung to Carol's eyes at the image of Merle holding their baby, rocking slowly back and forth as though he'd done this a million times before. The soft pink cap too big for her small head that was peeking out of the hospital blanket she was swaddled tightly in.

She moved to stand in front of them and brought the back of her finger up to lightly trace down the small, puffy cheek. "Hey there, Clementine," she whispered.

And when Carol returned her gaze to Merle, her smile grew wide as she watched the way his eyes never left his daughter.

"You're gonna be alright, little girl," he muttered. He looked to Carol then, his ever-present smile warming her from the inside out. "The three of us gon' make sure 'a that."

And Carol smiled back, feeling a love for this child like no other she ever thought she'd feel.

Clementine squirmed just a little, her face scrunching up as she realized she was hungry.

"I'll get the nurse," Carol mumbled before slipping quietly out of the room to retrieve the formula.

Once they were left alone in the room – both now oblivious to the officers hovering by the doorway – Daryl moved to stand next to Merle as he observed Clementine alongside his brother.

"You're a daddy now," Daryl told him simply, the weight of the words speaking for itself.

"Yeah," Merle snickered. "Reckon you are, too."

Daryl paused just then as he studiously scrutinized their little Clementine's face, running the back of his hand along his brow as a chuckle escaped, reality sinking in deeper.

He was a father now.

When Carol returned with the tiny bottle ready to go, she insisted that Merle feed her her very first meal, though he'd argued that he wasn't qualified for the job. Carol had stood right by his side nonetheless, and guided his hand to the right angle, making sure he was sitting comfortably in a chair before giving him a moment alone with his daughter.

Daryl had gone to the washroom while Carol waited outside the door, hearing every coo and sweet word Merle uttered to his baby. She'd been smiling uncontrollably at the hilarity of it all until he began to speak actual words, and she froze in place just outside the door to the nursery, worried that she was imposing on a private moment but unable to make herself leave.

"Well, sugarbug," he began, the scratchy timbre of his voice flowing softly past the officers and through the doorway. "I ain't gon' be around much. But your uncle Daryl and aunt Carol, they'll take care 'a you. Real good, too. They're good people, alright? They're family. Family's important, Clem. Most important thing in the world. You'll learn that, we'll teach you. You got them to look after you. An' I'll be there, much as I can. But you don't need me, not really. Daryl's better than me, anyhow. And _Carol_," he trailed off with a chortle, and Carol's heart pounded hard in her chest as the emotion sank in deeper. "Carol's better than all of us put together."

She remained frozen outside the nursery door, forcing herself to take slow and steady breaths and pushing her tears back where they came from. But she stayed rooted in place as she listened to Merle hum a little tune before he spoke once more.

"You're gon' be alright, sugarbug. Ain't no better place for you than with your aunt and uncle."

Clementine began to fuss just a little, and Merle told her softly that there was still some milk left in the bottle and that she wasn't done yet, so Carol steadied herself with three deep breaths before making her way back into the nursery.

She showed him how to burp her, and he laughed heartily when Clementine belched louder than he'd ever have expected from such a tiny baby girl. Then he settled her back down in his arms once again to finish off her bottle.

All too soon after that, it was time for Merle to go, and Carol took Clementine from him after he'd given his daughter a fleetingly soft kiss goodbye to the top of her head.

He stood still in front of Carol and Clementine as one of the officers handcuffed him once again, the clicking sounds of the cuffs the only sounds between them as his eyes fluttered between the faces of the two girls who had changed his life so entirely. Opening his mouth only to close it once again as he worked out what he was trying to say. Clenching his jaw and grinding his teeth before swallowing back whatever it was that was holding him back from _just saying it_.

Carol waited him out patiently, allowing him however much time he needed to deal with the newness of the day, cradling their baby tenderly in her arms.

"Thank you, Mouse," he muttered, finally.

And it was beyond evident to Carol the amount of effort it had taken him to shove his pride aside to utter those words. Those two simple words that were loaded with more gratitude than he'd ever felt in his entire lifetime.

* * *

**The name...I just...that is the name that the Merle in my head kept telling me.**

**I hope you enjoyed, thanks for stopping by : )**


	17. Epilogue

**This is ****_IT_****! The final chapter... ****_(eeeeps!)_**

**I'm beyond grateful for those of you who stuck with this the whole way through, and I can't thank you enough for even giving it a chance in the first place.**

**And to Steph and Larissa, who have been available for all my last-minute panics, talking me through plot points and helping me with basically everything, every single step of the way – you guys deserve all the ice cream and cupcakes and cookies in the world. I would squeeze you to bits if I could. THANK YOU. I really and truly couldn't have done this without either of you. MUAH! oxoxoxox**

* * *

_Suddenly I turned around and she was standing there_

_With silver bracelets on her wrist and flowers in her hair._

_She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns._

_"Come in," she said. "I'll give you shelter from the storm."_

_\- Shelter from the Storm (Bob Dylan)_

* * *

It wasn't always easy. Not one single part of it had every truly been easy.

Each drive to the prison was a reminder that one day they'd have to face this. One day Clementine would ask where they were going and why her daddy was in there. They'd have to explain it to her and hope that the people she met in her life didn't judge her for who she was, and the life she'd been born into.

Each temper tantrum had Carol wondering if she was doing everything _wrong_ – if she was any better of a mother to this little girl than the stranger she would have ended up with in the alternative – and had Daryl battling hard and often with his lack of patience.

Every illness felt a little bit like a tiny failure. Every sleepless night felt like they were in over their heads.

Every tear Carol had shed over this child, and all the ways she could be messing it all up, had Daryl's insides twisted up in knots.

_Why is she crying? I can't get her to stop. I don't know what to do. Is this normal? Are we doing it wrong?_

But they loved her so fiercely. And they reminded one another every day that they were in this together. A team. And they would find their way.

Merle was released from prison shortly before Clementine's fourth birthday. For that entire summer he couldn't contain his pride as they all looked ahead to her very first day of school. And Clementine was just as excited, looking forward to being a "_real_ big girl" who would have her very own cubby and play in a big playground.

It was all so normal. A childhood Daryl could never relate to, and one that was even more foreign to Merle. But Carol was there, for them and for Clementine. She helped the three of them navigate through it, just as she always had.

Clementine Louise Dixon had grown to be a spitting image of her father. Her blonde hair was as thick and curly as Merle's had been when he was a boy. She had clear blue eyes and Daryl's nose. She was more mature than any of them could wrap their heads around, often rolling her eyes at her father's profanity in the way she'd seen her aunt do so many times.

_Daddy, that's not a nice word,_ she would chastise, looking to Carol with an exasperated shake of her head.

The little girl was clever, and Carol often teased that she was more mature than Merle _ever_ was, even at her young age. And Merle had never even argued because it was true. Clementine was something else entirely; so much smarter than Merle had ever expected from any child of his.

She was kind. She was always willing to share her snacks and toys with whoever was around for her to share with. She was funny, often pulling a silly face while she rode in her car seat, which Daryl would only ever notice when he just happened to be shoulder-checking before changing lanes. He would break out into laughter each time at the unexpected image, earning Clementine's own hearty giggles to accompany it. She loved making people laugh.

She was generous, always drawing pictures for each of her parents and presenting them with pride. She was polite, always remembering her _pleases_ and _thank you_s. And she was grateful for all that she had, though her very own parents knew there were other children with parents who were able to give them so much more.

And so when the time came for Clementine to go off to kindergarten and begin the journey that would turn her into an even better version of herself, it was nothing short of monumental.

Merle Dixon's daughter was beginning her education in the carefully chosen outfit she'd picked out with her aunt Carol the night before.

The three adults stood crowded around their little girl in her new classroom, bright eyed and enthusiastic on her very first day of school.

Before long it was time for them to leave her for the start of the school day. Clementine stood rigidly at Carol's side, her hair pulled back from her face as her curls cascaded beautifully down her back, where her backpack sat. It was filled with all of the brand new school supplies she'd need for the year. Carol knelt down in front of her niece and put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Alright, baby. It's time. You all set, Clem?"

The little girl nodded enthusiastically back at her aunt, though the smile she had plastered onto her face for that entire morning had now changed itself slightly. Her eyes had become a little too unblinking, her brow a little too creased.

"I'll be right down the hall. All day long, remember?" Carol reassured her gently, moving her hand now to the girl's cheek and running her thumb along her niece's smooth skin.

Clementine nodded once again with her nervous smile still looking desperately to her aunt as tears filled her eyes.

"Hey now," Merle chimed in as he knelt down next to his daughter, and she turned towards him. If there was one thing that could be said about Merle Dixon, it was that his daughter's tears always had him on high alert. "You're gonna be alright, sugarbug. Remember?"

She nodded back at her daddy just as she'd done with Carol, putting on a brave face as she swiftly wiped a tear from her eye.

"Atta girl," Merle bellowed as he ruffled his hand over the top of her head, proud to see his girl grabbing her fear by the balls.

"_Daddy_," she whined, smoothing a hand down over her hair he'd messed up.

The two of them had sat on the porch swing just a week ago and discussed this day. Daryl had been mowing the lawn while Merle sat with Clementine tucked into his side, swinging gently as she spoke of her anxiety about the whole thing.

And Merle had done what any father would have done. He'd told her that everyone gets nervous when they're trying something new. He'd told her that she was the best little girl around and that she would make friends easily, that her teachers would love her. And he'd told her that if any of the kids bothered her to let him know, and he would find that kid's father and knock his fuckin' teeth in.

_Daddy_, she'd reprimanded. _That's probably not a very good idea._

Daryl took his turn sending his girl off as he picked her up for a quick hug and a loud smacking kiss to her cheek. She squeezed him back tightly as her legs dangled below her, and sooner than she would have liked Daryl set her down again. She garnered strength from each of her parents as she moved on next to Carol, who held onto her and rocked her gently, whispering a quick _I love you_ into her ear.

Carol moved to stand next to Daryl as Clementine turned back to her daddy, whose arms swallowed her up into the tightest embrace. Her small arms wrapped around his neck as her eyes squeezed firmly shut, and Merle just held her there, his own eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he buried his nose into her hair and planted a kiss to the side of her head. When she began to pull away he took the back of her head and drew her in once more with a kiss to the forehead and stood, taking her hand and walking her over to her new teacher.

The three of them took their leave then, but paused in the doorway to give her one final wave. Carol was relieved to see the girl roll her eyes in embarrassment, and their smiles stayed with them as Carol walked the two men to the school's front door before making her way to start her own work day in the office.

Clementine would be alright, she told herself. The eye-roll told her so. But if she wasn't, Carol took comfort in the fact that she'd be just down the hall.

And as she watched them walk down the path to the parking lot after a quick kiss to Merle's cheek and a slightly longer one to Daryl's mouth, she felt herself smiling at the sight.

Daryl reached out a hand and placed it firmly to the base of Merle's neck, the pride he felt clearly visible in the gesture and the way he seemed to glance in his brother's direction. But it was Merle's retreating form that Carol couldn't tear her eyes from.

She'd never seen him stand quite so tall in all the years she'd known him.

* * *

The rain was coming down in sheets, but Clementine stayed faithfully by the front window, waiting diligently for her father to arrive.

Carol had cooked Clementine's favourite meal that evening – hot dogs and macaroni and cheese – in celebration of the first day of school, though the girl had insisted that they wait for her daddy before sitting down to eat. He'd already been running late from the rehab meeting he was coming from, and the horrible weather likely wasn't helping matters.

Unless it would be one of those times, again, when there was another reason entirely.

So Carol had worried herself with the driving conditions as she worked away in the kitchen to distract her from what she may have to say to her little girl if her daddy decided he wouldn't be showing up at all.

"He's here!" Clementine called excitedly when she saw his truck pull up and ran towards the door. Carol's heart jumped with relief as she grabbed a dishrag and dried her hands, following swiftly behind her niece and pulling open the front door just as Merle was exiting his truck.

"_Come on, daddy_," Clementine called over the downpour with a wide smile on her face and a fluttering giggle, and Carol couldn't help but laugh along with her. She doubted Merle could even hear her over the hammering rain, but at this point Carol's only thought was of relief that he'd made it.

Merle jogged towards them, eager to get inside as he grinned at his girl, and enveloped her in a bear hug as he stepped inside. She squealed at the cold of his wet clothes soaking her own as Carol shut the door behind him, moving then to the linen closet for a clean, dry towel.

She'd exchanged a look with Daryl as she passed by him pouring tea for them all at the kitchen counter, clearly feeling the same sickening relief as she was, while Clementine excitedly told her daddy the tale of the table she got to sit at, the biggest playground she'd ever seen, and the girl who'd asked her to play dress-up.

* * *

The rain had slowed to a steady shower that evening, and Daryl and Carol sat out on the porch swing, rocking gently back and forth. Clementine had gone to bed early, exhausted from her big day, and Merle had gone home not long after he'd kissed her goodnight.

Today had been a good day, Carol thought as they sat together in comfortable silence. Clementine had done well on her first day, and Merle had been there for every part of it. Daryl had been relatively quiet all day – more so than his usual – not talking much through dinner and casting his eyes towards Merle with a look that she couldn't read.

Things had been good since Merle had been back. He spent every day at their house with his girl. He was there for bath time – even though he simply sat by on the toilet while Carol carried out the actual bathing. He was there for dinner most nights, and he was there to give his girl a kiss at bedtime.

There were times when he'd forget to mind his manners, or convey his discontent with some of the ways they were raising his kid. And in those times it was Daryl who would jump in quickly to remind him of the arrangement they'd made. Merle would back off then, if only just a little reluctantly, and they would carry on as they were.

And so Carol had been optimistic.

It wasn't always this easy, though. It especially wasn't always easy on Carol.

She hadn't realized how high her expectations had been of Merle until he'd let her down as time went on, as he inevitably would.

There would be days in his first year out of prison when he'd miss their visits, and the three of them would sit at the dinner table with one empty place, avoiding the issue entirely. Because Daryl and Carol had both known that those would be the days when he relapsed. By his ninth month out, it had happened twice – Merle disappearing from their lives for weeks on end. And then he would get back to his meetings and pick himself up once more. He persevered.

Carol's heart broke each time they'd wait on him and he didn't show. It broke for Clementineand for Merle. For Daryl as well as herself. All for different reasons, each break leaving its own jagged scar in her chest.

But those were oddly the moments when she'd felt most proud of him. It was a reaction that she'd never expected from herself, but it had helped her keep her head about it. Because those would be the times Carol realized he'd done the one fundamental thing that any father should do for their children – he made sure Clem was taken care of. He made sure she had parents who loved her and were there for her, for all the times he wasn't.

And for that, Carol felt proud.

"You okay?" Her voice was soft, and she felt the rumble of Daryl's chest under her cheek as he grunted something of a response.

But when he offered no more than that, she lifted her head, bringing her face close to his as she sought it out, trying to figure out if he was being sincere. She offered him a quick peck on the curve of his jaw, and he smirked down at her.

"I'm good," he said, a smile gently curving his lips upward. He dipped his head only slightly and captured her lips in a lingering kiss.

And he really was good. It had surprised him how good he felt, and he supposed he'd been trying to fight it, especially today. He hadn't realized it until he'd been sitting at the dinner table with his family – his brother, his wife, his daughter – but a part of him had seemed to expect Merle to have ditched today. And with that realization came the very true fact that he'd almost expected Merle to ditch every day.

But he hadn't. He'd been there today, as he had most every day of Clementine's life.

Merle had spent his full attention on his daughter on the Saturdays when they'd bring her to the prison to visit with her daddy. He spent nearly every minute of their time holding her, feeding her or playing with her. Though he'd never once changed a dirty diaper, he had always tried soothing the baby when she'd begin to fuss.

There were times when he'd feel the sting though, when it was Daryl she sought out for comfort. When it was Daryl's arms and voice and presence that would be the only thing in the world to soothe what ailed her.

Carol had seen the look on Merle's face the time Clementine had banged her forehead as she rounded the table during one of their visits and had immediately run past him to where Daryl sat. She'd seen the way his jaw clenched as Daryl scooped the little girl into his arms and held her tight as she cried into his neck, her tiny arms wrapped around him like a vice. And she saw the way Merle fidgeted in his seat when Daryl ran his hand soothingly over the toddler's back, muttering softly and sweetly in her ear as her quaking breath began to slow.

This was Merle's own personal brand of punishment.

Then there were the times they'd make their trip to the penitentiary, only to go through all the necessary procedures in order to be let into the visiting room, and Merle simply wouldn't be there. Up to five weekends in a row sometimes, but still they would go. Every single Saturday.

Daryl had never thought he'd live to see the day when Merle Dixon put another living soul ahead of himself. But Clementine had changed him entirely.

She'd given him purpose – a reason to be better. Family meant the whole world to Merle, and a child of his very own had taken the notion to a brand new level. Daryl didn't doubt for a second that Merle wouldn't lay down and die for their girl.

Merle wasn't fixed, not by a long shot. And Daryl wasn't sure he'd ever trust him enough to leave Merle alone with his daughter, but Daryl had given him a chance to be in her life and to make something good out of the hand he'd been dealt, and Merle had made more out of it than Daryl had ever expected him to.

Because Merle would fall back into his old habits, time and time again. And it seemed that maybe it would always be that way. But nowadays it was only a matter of time before he'd pick himself up and start trying all over again. For her.

Clementine had been the best thing to ever happen to him.

It was what Carol had been to Daryl. She'd brought him peace, and happiness, and Clementine. Carol had brought him family.

Daryl was nothing like the man he once was - _before_. His transformation may have started long before he met her, but by opening himself up to even just the simple idea of her, Carol had given him the push he needed to become his own man, and she didn't even know it.

Without Carol, he knew he would have fallen back into his old ways when Merle came knocking on his door. He knew that Merle would have undone everything he'd worked for. But Carol had proven to him that he was worth something, and now he was a man with a family.

He knew he took care of them. He knew he was good for them.

He pulled Carol in tighter into his side, pushing the swing gently once more with his foot. She brought a hand up to scratch lightly at the scruff of his jaw as she nestled into his neck, and then he brought a hand up and stilled it, pulling it down to hold it against his chest.

"I'm good," he muttered once more.

And he knew for certain now that he was.

He was a free man.

* * *

**This story's Questionable Google Searches have been brought to you by: "meth high symptoms", "non-fatal stab wounds that require surgery", "crime scene clean-up", "prison marriages", "prison visitation procedures", "prison visitor dress codes", "prisoner leave pass for birth of a child", and "trailer home floor plans".**

**I also have some "outtakes" that I'd written for this story but they never made the final cut for one reason or another - I may post these at some point : )**

**RIP Coffee Table, you've lived a fuller life than most.**

**_THANK YOU FOR READING! _oxoxox**


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